Valebis
by Heerayni
Summary: Farewell. For Draco, it is all that remains. Death is a reward which he will earn. But every reward must be deserved and it seems there is one final, most cruel test before the time for Valebis arrives. Shattered heart and soul, Draco knows there is one last thing he can give to the reason of his Destruction, the savior of the wizarding world : His Life. Veela!fic
1. Now Asleep, Now Awake

_**Author's Note: **** Special Thanks goes to my wonderful Beta "StillWatersAreDeep". **_

* * *

_**PROLOGUE:**_

_(May 1st 2000 – 4:30 pm)_

_It was a drab day. Drabbest of them all it seemed. Though it should not have seemed so, not for Draco. Even if it was a solar eclipse, this day should have felt like the day doors to paradise were opened to him, freedom should have ruled in the air, the imaginary sun should have finally dawned on him after the endless night that had been the last three years. It was anything but that._

_The grey of the clouds was just that, grey and grim. The constant drizzle falling relentlessly on all happy, sad, grumpy and indifferent Londoners was just that, a grey and grim drizzle that stained more than washing away all that needed to be washed away. There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing liberating. Not for Draco._

_"Pardoned!" was the only word Draco really heard. All else was just noise._

_With the final strike of the gavel, the Wizengamot was dispersing. It was a tide of robes and hats and chatter at him through which Draco Malfoy tore. People around him were turning into shadows, conversations were_

_ turning to a distant hum. Making use of all his dulled faculties to the limit he followed the instinct that would lead him to his elusive goal. Fast, panicking, desperate._

_It was a matter of life and death and Draco knew it. Though it seemed most of the things he had to do in the past three years had been just that, a matter of life and death. And these days, at times, when he was stowed away in his empty manor, he often came to the conclusion that he had failed at each and every one of them._

_His mother had been killed, his father had been given the kiss. And he, he had become a social pariah._

_And here he was. At the edge of sanity, running after the one last matter of life and death. Which was his own, unfortunately or fortunately; it was yet to be decided._

_Draco held very little hope though. He had very little of it left, after three years of misfortune. And during his lonesome trekking of the manor grounds in the winter he came to accept the fact that, what he thought as being born to luxury and fortune, was in fact being born into vice and misfortune. It not only did not prepare him for what was to come. It took away the most important thing from his person. The freedom to make his own choice._

_His wrong and disastrous choices were made for him, and the only thing luxury and false sense of superiority that was drilled into him did, was leave him unprepared for the kind of evil that would come to reside so near to him. The worst part was, that he had been forced into embracing it as well._

_Not even given the choice of indifference._

_It was not long before even the hum of the crowd he was still cutting through tuned out of his ears and all he could hear was the rapid thump of his own heart. He kept composing himself and breaking apart every alternate second as he made his way._

_His vision was turning blurry around the edges. He knew he had over-dosed on the repressive potion and his body and magic was burning it all out rapidly, the overheat of the unsuitable reaction making him feel dizzy. But he kept on until he almost broke out of the Assembly hall. The sprawling chess board marble floor was like a huge optical illusion to his frayed nerves, concaving and convexing in patches where he tried to focus. Shutting his eyes tightly enough to make his eye sockets hurt he stepped on to it, sprinting across the seemingly endless length of it in the direction of the great mahogany gates. The sound of his rough breathing now joining the cacophony of his irregular heart beat in his ears and whimpers inside his chest._

_He bumped into quite a few people-shadows along the way, but he cared nothing for it and even less for them taking offence. On the other side of the gates was the reception hall and communal Floo stations and that was Draco's destination. Pushing out of the dizzying atrium he finally made it to the reception hall. Eyes desperately scanning through the small queues in front of all twelve Floo stations, he spotted what he was looking for a few feet away from the fourth station on the far left wall which housed the departing Floos._

_His shaking world came to a stop. It was as if all his veins were filled with lead. All desperation and burning energy seeped out of him dread replacing it. He was doomed and he knew it. A few more shadows bumped into him as he made his way towards his goal as if in a trance, a way similar to that of a wizard meant for a Dementor's_

_ kiss walks towards his fate, urged by misfortune and excruciating pain of loss and loneliness which was to be his only companion, he was almost sure of it._

_Though, the small sliver of hope remained embedded in his heart was what was even more painful than all the pain that had been inflicted upon him._

_He realized that the potion was almost gone. His instincts were still slow, but the connection was awakening. It won't all be under control for much longer and if this was to be done, it had to be done right then and there. He kept his pace and his focus somehow once he started moving again. The jet black hair worked as a homing beacon towards which he moved as the world around him was still slowed to an almost pause. Perhaps he was moving too fast._

_The back was turned towards him, slim, but strong. The hair, a shiny black against the maroon of the Auror-in-training robes, head bobbing in a nod. Draco came to a stop a few feet away determined to be under control. There were people all around and his aristocratic training of years was not all in vain. The smaller a scene he made, the better. He was probably about to forfeit his life and though he was damned any way, he would be double-damned if he let it all happen without dignity. So it was to be done now, while it was all still under his control._

_He noticed the flash of long red-hair and then widened blue eyes facing towards him from the other side of the turned away back. A sickening wave of fury and irritation rose in the pit of his stomach, mingling with his nausea and a shower of hurtful memories amidst darkness and clatter._

_He cared very little if it showed on his face at this point. There was only so much he could control._

_His throat started to ache as his whole body broke out in a cold sweat. He looked down at his feet trying to gain some kind of control on his fury._

_Taking a deep scorching breath he looked up again towards the man that still was unaware of the presence behind him. Draco envied him as he always had. What would he not give for the same obliviousness towards the other's presence? But it was not to be. Never had been since he had laid his eyes on the person eight years ago. Draco had always been aware. Now he knew why, and if he did not keep in check, so will the rest of the world._

_Nature or fate as you may call it had played him a losing hand, long before he was even born. Draco's fate had been written in nothing but blood and hate being born in the rain of stones with heart, body and soul made out of glass._

_He licked his lips to no advantage as his mouth was just as sandpaper dry as his lips._

_"P-Potter?" he did not know how he uttered the single word. But by Merlin's grace or curse it was done._

_The back facing him stiffened and Draco stiffened in reaction, though only visible to the eyes of Potter's companion._

_With an effortless grace that was most characteristic of Harry Potter, he turned around and sharp and cool emerald green eyes, which were huge and intense in that deceptively soft countenance were settled on Draco in a steely gaze, not giving a millimetre._

_Draco was losing. Instincts warring, the nausea still not completely subsided. He was stuck somewhere in the centre of mindless suicide and bleeding worship._

_"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ginny Weasley said sneering at him from Potter's side. Her contorted expression made her look ugly, but she wasn't ugly was she? No she was pretty! And the one standing by Potter's side, she was the one with the world in her hands. A Weasley? A faithless, opportunistic whore! (Which even in his feverish rage, a part of Draco knew she was not.)_

_Draco lost it then, not the control on his instinct, but the one on his temper. And as he was uttering the words and his face was changing its expression into just as much of an ugly sneer as hers, a part of him was oddly detached from the whole situation unfolding in front of him. It was as if he could watch it from a distance as a third person, who knew all the secrets of everyone present; he was watching clearly how the last thread of hope he had was snapping right in front of him by his own hands as if in slow motion._

_"I do not think your name is 'Potter' yet, Weasley! So I would appreciate it if you would not respond to such, or is it too much of good manners to ask of a Weasley?"_

_As far as exchanges of insults went between Malfoys and Weasley, this one was atrociously mild, but its consequences would be much more far-reaching than anyone could have predicted. But in that moment, this mildly rude dialogue would doom Draco. Perhaps forever, and the saddest part was, that only Draco knew it. Only Draco would know how big a punishment can come from the mildest of insults._

_Before the girl could answer, Potter stepped closer to him menacingly._

_"You have some nerve, Malfoy! I just saved your arse from the Dementor's kiss and you come and insult those dear to me?"_

_It was as if someone had thrown an ice-cold bucket of water on Draco's hot skin. He realized with horror, the error he had just made. Yes, it was starting now. This was the moment that would stamp everything for Draco. But all Draco heard was the phrase, 'Dear to me.' Draco would never be that, he was somewhat realizing. Still he tried. But bloody Gryffindors never did stop and listen for a minute did they?_

_"P-Potter…Listen…" he said somewhere in the flood of soundless rush in his ears._

_"NO, MALFOY! YOU LISTEN!" Potter snarled harshly green eyes full of venom and Draco's blood froze as his mouth shut and voice died in his throat. Draco Malfoy was listening and watching that acidic venom of hate, culminated over years perhaps. Birth and ignorance, that was what doomed Draco to this fate, it was stupid of him to even keep that little string of hope intact. He should have killed himself when he had the chance. Now, even that was going to be taken from him._

_"I saved your arse only because I owed it to your dead mother! I would have gladly let you die as you are as much of a useless evil git and Death Eater scum as your bloody father was! Hear THIS! And remember it! And follow it! If you know what is good for you, you will leave this country and you will never show your face around here! If you know what is good for you, I will never hear Draco Malfoy's name. I will never see your ugly ferret-face again! If you know what is good for you, Malfoy, you will stay out of trouble and die a nameless death in an obscure part of the world, Malfoy! Do you understand?"_

_Draco remained silent and stunned. Wondering why he was still standing up straight when his soul was shattering? What held him up? He felt the sliver of hope dissolving like a wisp of smoke into thin air, the oppressive void filling his chest like hope never had._

_Potter's gaze…that's right! That was what was holding him up. Potter's gaze full of disgust and hatred. Disgust and hatred addressed all at Draco, tenfold deeper than what was on display._

_"I ASKED IF YOU UNDERSTOOD, MALFOY?"_

_"Yes," something answered for him._

_"Good!" said Potter and suddenly fished inside his robe. Pulling out a wand and throwing it in Draco's face. It was Draco's first wand. The one that committed him to this fate. The one he remembered Potter snatching from him at the manor. The wand hit the side of Draco's cheek and then fell down clanging against the marble floor._

_"Now get lost and remain lost, Malfoy!" Potter spat at him before taking the arm of Ginny Weasley and stepping into the vacant Floo a few feet away. Draco watched it all frozen on his spot. Draco watched his life burning before it melted and withered away into ashes and green flames. Draco watched as it never once looked back to see his ultimate destruction, Draco watched as it confined him to a life of excruciating pain and endless suffering. Draco watched, and when he couldn't watch anymore, Draco did as he was told._

* * *

**Chapter 1 : Now Asleep, Now Awake.**

_(January 6th 2021 - 5:45am)_

Sleepy Kyrenia.

So beautiful in its slumber as I stand and watch it from the top of the hill where my humble abode rests.

Bellapais,

That is what they call this hill.

With its ancient mystical Mulberry tree, rumoured to enchant those who taste its fruit and rest underneath it to forget all worries of life and just laze around till life passes them by.

If only it was that easy for life to pass by.

I admit it was this story that brought me to this place and it would be ungrateful of me if I claim that I have not felt welcomed here. The magic, beauty of the Mediterranean is pure here as well as peaceful and I have stood in this very place so many times watching the slumbering town beneath. Waiting. Wilting, oh so slowly.

But this morning is different.

So different from what I have always expected this morning to be like, in the end.

Though there is not much strength left, I celebrate still.

I feel justified. Accomplished.

Twenty years of endless suffering in banishment and excruciating pain. And my triumph can only last a week at most.

But, it is enough, it has to be. I have no regrets. Not anymore.

The golden line on the horizon tells me of sunrise. I remove my night-shirt. To face the sun one last time. Clenching my fist around the single knitted woollen glove, I stole so dexterously. I have been holding it for most of the night, it is my last solace, and I think I deserve it, I deserve this little piece of that which would be missed for a moment before it will be replaced by something newer better, but this, for me is the best I can have, and it can never be replaced.

My uncovered weak flesh faces the rising sun and I feel the freshest of sunlight on my chafing skin. I feel the over-whelming foreign magic burning inside my veins. It is consuming me fast. Faster now.

Soon, I will be too far gone to feel it all anymore. Or I maybe I will still feel it, but will not be able to make sense of it anymore. Soon it will all become senseless and mindless. And that, in my opinion, is called heaven.

I hear someone entering the room behind me. I am very sure of who it is.

Aali, My apprentice and employee. My adopted progeny. And my companion.

He is always loud, especially when he is trying to be silent. Always behind when he is trying to be ahead.

And to me, that is his most endearing characteristic.

"Ustad! When did you return?" he gasps behind me as I turn to look at him. He holds the watering can, filled to the brim. So reliable my Aali is. Broad, tall and brawny with his dark hair, distractingly stern brow and expressive olive-green eyes. He is scanning me thoroughly and worryingly.

Always worrying.

"Last night…" I answer to distract him from his scrutiny.

"And you did not think to Floo me? Or call me on the phone?" he huffs a little. Yes, striving to hide his worry by acting normal.

"I did not want to trouble you…you are a family man now…"

"Yes, I am, and you are a part of that family…I worry about you…"

"Well, you won't be worrying for long then."

He freezes bent over the Twirlezil, watering can held aloft the magical herb, which is thriving it seems. Thanks to his careful affection and worry. But alas, I am not some herb, and Aali's careful affection and worry are not going to help me thrive. As things stand, nothing can.

That was a harsh way of breaking the news.

He turns towards me carefully. His clenched fist around the filled watering can trembling.

"What did you do?" he asks eyes wide, the kind of wide which means he is coming to a realization.

"What I was supposed to…it was the worst case scenario…" I say, knowing that making light of the situation is going to make his reaction more severe. But I need him to have his breakdown now. Where I can see it, soothe him, handle it. I need to be present, still in my senses for his good byes. His are the only ones I am going to receive. Rest I am only going to send, to those who are probably not even looking for them.

"What did you do, USTAD!?" he yells loudly at me, and I can feel the sound hitting my skin, aching. The watering can smashes on the side. As he takes a step towards me menacingly.

Yes, angry…Angry is good. Angry is as good as it will get. He has Sarah now. Aali is not alone. He will be fine. It will all be fine, painful for a while, but he will come through. And once the baby comes, he will be perfect again. Helping people, raising a family, never alone.

I have done my due.

"Only what was necessary, Aali…he had me make an unbreakable vow."

"NO! He did not! You offered to make an unbreakable vow didn't you? I know this! How could you?"

A tear escapes his olive eyes as I can see his heart shattering in his eyes.

"How could I not?" I ask him. And it's true, how could I not? It was the best deal I was going to get. Only, at that moment I had not really considered the fact that I might succeed. It was wrong of me. Severus would have disapproved.

"Don't you even start! You planned this, I knew that letter was the siren of doom, I knew! I felt it! I should have kept it back! I should…You can't do this! Ustad! You…" He shudders and takes a deep breath, shoulders hunched and all of a sudden he looks like the boy I found in my back lawn soaked in winter rain, curled in on himself breathing harshly to keep warm, scared and lonely but brave.

So brave. So thin and wiry, so beautiful.

"Aali…" I reach out to him the same way I had all those years ago, as he trembles fixed on the spot, moist eyes staring at me and I can see his heart burning with grief in his eyes.

I haven't been a total failure then. I have someone's love. Someone is going to grieve me after I am gone. It is a selfish thought, but I haven't been that in a long time, and now of all times it should be okay.

He reaches for my hand the same way he had done fifteen years ago, when he was nothing but a scruffy thin boy of ten years. And before I realize I am being embraced. He is the same height as me but much more solid and broad yet he manages to hide in my arms, like the little boy he will always be. My little boy.

"How long?"

He asks me as I sit on my recliner facing the French windows, his head in my lap as he sits on the floor next to me holding my shins in a death grip as he spills silent tears.

"A week…at most." His breath hitches audibly.

"And… And the pain?" his voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

"No more than three days at most…I am sure."

"I should never have given you that cursed letter. I am so stupid!"

"And see me suffer for how many more years? You could never be that selfish!"

"Yes, but how can you be so selfish?"

"I…." in truth, I have no answer for that. What can I tell this boy who is more to me than my own flesh and blood would have been? What can I tell him? That I was born selfish? That I was born to self-centredness and bigotry and only self-indulgence? This boy who worships the ground I walk on, who thinks I am an angel on earth if there ever was one. How can I tell him?

"No! I am sorry! I did not mean it that way. Of course, you have suffered enough, you deserve peace and it is selfish of me in reality. I should not be…But I am so angry, you are everything to me."

No, Aali, I am not anything to anybody. And I learnt the truth of that a long time ago.

* * *

**(2 weeks ago)**

_**:URGENT DELIVERY:**_

_**Express O- Stamp Dated: 10th Dec 2020.**_

_For,_

_Honourable Ustad Beyazlamak,_

_c/o Yardim Eli Assc._

_REDIRECT TO : USTAD BEYAZLAMAK_

_C/O Olive Tower Bell Monastery,_

_Bellapais,_

_Girne'_

_Honourable Healer,_

_I am writing this letter to you as a last resort to an impossible situation. I have heard a lot of admiration for your extraordinary work in alternative healing magic through the grapevine for a few years now. I must admit , you are a difficult person to find. It has taken a lot of effort on my part to find even a reference address to reach you. But I am thankful to Yardim Eli Association who finally agreed to help me out in reaching you._

_It is known widely that you are the most effective healer for curing the most mysterious magical maladies, considering your benevolent forte, I would also like to make a desperate request of you which I am hoping you will consider. It is of utmost importance to me and while I know how much it might ask of you, I am left with no other choice but to take the liberty and request this of you. If you accept or reject, it is solely in your hand._

_It is just so that a loved one in my immediate family suffers from such a mysterious magical illness which the world class mainstream magical healers to date have been unable to cure._

_My youngest sibling and only sister, Lily Luna, has been suffering from Magical seizures for the past nine months. The attack-like seizures started in the past March during a regular school session in Hogwarts where she read in year one. Due to gradually increasing frequency of these seizure-attacks, which start with immediate high fevers and magical backlash type of seizures her schooling had to be discontinued._

_In the beginning, the seizures lasted only for a period of three minutes to four minutes and never happened more than once a day, leaving her fatigued for the rest of the day and also with an irregular magical flow for approximately two days afterwards, during which period her magical flow would range between MFF level 2 to MFF 7.8._

_Once the school year was wrapped up and she was brought home, the attacks/seizures stopped for a whole month, before starting again with increased frequency (2-3 seizures/day) and longer seizure durations( 7-10 minutes)._

_Her appetite increased with the frequency of seizures, yet she continued to lose weight and also suffered from an increase in body temperature by 2 degrees. At this point she went through a number of magical tests to check what really ailed her. They tested her for most magical disorders known to old and modern magical healing, from magical epilepsy to Daenaryen magic disorder. She tested negative to all intrusive and non-intrusive magical tests. Meanwhile in the next two months the seizure frequency increased even more and rendered her in a constant state of delirium. Her MFF's constant fluctuating made it impossible to treat her even for the increased temperature of her body. Her health deterioration has gotten to the point that the Healers panel at St. Mungo's came to a unanimous decision to put her in a magical stasis coma, until they could figure out her ailment._

_Being a second year intern at Healer's training myself and specializing in diagnostics to boot, I know that this will only delay which is seeming hopelessly inevitable at this point. I have spent hours and hours in researching the symptoms and what causes them. I have scoured all possible leads that knowledge in this part of the world provided me with, to no avail. I also branched out to researching alternative methods of healing, from Japan to Peru, from light magic therapy, to alternative black voodoo magic, but all my efforts have gone to naught and as a last resort I turn to you. I read about the six-head case that you cured an adolescent from while I was on a week long holiday in Antalya last summer. There was no direct address to you so I am sending this to Yardim Eli association under a wing of which you work. They have promised me that they will send it forward to you for which I cannot be grateful enough. I hope this letter reaches you in time. My family is in a constant state of despair as we see no hope shining for my most beloved sister, who lies in a stasiscal coma for the past whole month now._

_So, I plead with you honourable Ustad, to agree to at least come see her once. Fee, assistance, logistics staying and travelling, my family is willing to provide anything you may require. Our only request is to come and see my sister once, my instinct tells me that if anyone can heal her, it is you, but as I have heard, convincing you is the toughest part of it all._

_I hope you will consider this. I hope you will be able to cure her. And hope is the most precious thing that my family and I possess right now._

_**A comprehensive report of all the tests conducted until now and her basic magical and physical data as well as HMC (Hereditary Magic Character) report, accompanies this letter. I plead, yet again, for the sake of my lovely little sister. I pray that you will consider treating her, you are our only hope.**_

**_Yours Sincerely,_**

**_Albus Severus Potter_**

**_101 Bagshot Street_**

**_Godric's Hollow_**

**_(Floo Address(FIC) – "101 Bagshot Street / New Potter Residence")_**

* * *

I stared at the letter for what felt like an eternity. Mind blank and silent at the name printed in a neat swift hand on the lower edge of the parchment.

Albus Severus Potter.

Albus Severus Potter.

Namesake of two of the greatest wizards I ever knew and carrying the name, flesh and blood of the third one.

Albus Severus Potter.

Son of Harry James Potter.

Thinking that name alone made my insides hurt.

"Well?" I was startled out of my reverie with Aali's voice, who loomed in front of me.

I gazed at him, as I wondered how much he should be told about this?

What exactly was 'it' then? I wondered.

"Is everything okay? You look like you have seen a ghost…" Worry was now starting to show on his face. He always did read faces too well.

I wanted to say that had I really seen a ghost, I would not have feel this way at all. But something stopped me from revealing too much to Aali. Something stopped me every time.

"I'm fine. Just a little unexpected," I said vaguely enough.

"It is from home?" he asked, blanking his face at my vagueness. This secrecy remained a sore-spot between us. And I missed the days when he only needed food, sleep, comfort and adventures.

"This is my home, Aali," I said plainly and made my way inside for a moment of peace.

Peace. What a joke.

There would be no peace now. It was gone.

Peace that I had culminated by relentless efforts during the past twenty years. Changing everything, even the material I was made of. Peace that I had earned from hard and at times dangerous work. Peace that had come to me in its sweet time with helping those who couldn't be helped. Loving the unloved ones. Caring without prejudice. Easing pain and suffering of others, because there was no cure for mine.

In a moment I was back to wretched. I should have been above all of it by now.

A child was suffering inexplicably somewhere and I was sitting here thinking about…

I skimmed the letter again full of dread.

Lily Luna. Lily Luna Potter.

Luna. I remembered Luna. I remembered seeing her in Nicosia about a decade ago. Frazzled, but more grounded accompanied by her husband and sons, twins, identical too.

She looked happy and satisfied. Complete.

And I had felt like ripping my heart out.

Such a waste I was.

She did not recognize me though our eyes did meet across the café.

I was equally glad and sad about that.

In the weeks that she had been detained in the dungeons of the manors, we had developed a tentative friendship though we never spoke a word to each other. But I saw in her eyes the kindness and understanding that I did not find in the eyes of even my so-called best friends. Not that they knew any reason to be kind towards me. It was as if she knew my secret, as if she knew what I was suffering from. That look of kindness was the only reprieve I had for the day after. Even in the aftermath of her escape, despite the excruciating punishment I had to endure at the hands of my own aunt, I often thought about her and missed her. I could never begrudge her. But it was not so easy to flee from my own cage was it?

Potter could not have named his daughter after a better and braver witch.

It was time for me to be brave too. It was time.

A child was suffering, and even if that child belonged to Harry Potter,I would die before I fail to heal that child.

Especially because she belonged to Harry Potter.

I would show him who I was now. I would show him change.

I owed him my life, though at times I did wish that he had not saved me.

And then bind me to a half-life.

Not that there could be any other kind of life for one such as me.

"Death Eater scum"

No, he needed to be showed this change.

I will not fail, I would die before I failed to heal a child who needed my help.

And I realized with that thought, that it may be the perfect chance to do just that. Only failure was not an option. And dying would be a reward.

"Aali!" I yelled. He knew the tone, he would come running for it.

"Ustad! What is the matter?" he was panicked, soil smeared on his face from where he had been working in the garden.

"Clean up! You have a Floo call to make."

Half an hour later we Apparated inside my office and haphazard testing lab in Nicosia. It was the nearest and safest place I knew of from where it would still be impossible to track me.

"So, what do I say?" he asked me for the umpteenth time.

"You will say that Ustad Beyazlamak is interested in taking a look at his sick sister, but will only travel so far, if his father, the legal guardian of the child and the head of the household personally calls Ustad Beyazlamak on the phone and gives his express consent that he wants Ustad Beyazlamak to treat his daughter and wants him to travel all the way to UK for this purpose. And then you will give him the phone number to the hotel suite we are staying at and ask him to call in the evening only between the hours of five and seven…UK time."

"Why are you making this so complicated? I don't understand." He was wary, he had the right to be that. I hated to make him do anything he did not want to, but here we had no choice. He was already angry about my suggestion for travelling given my condition which only he knew about. But I knew in the end, Aali would stand by all my decision, no matter how much he opposed them. I was his father, teacher, best friend all-in-one.

Giving him a stern look that would shut away all other arguments or queries to come, I answered the most obvious one.

"I am making this complicated so it will look important and they will take my treatment seriously. It is of utmost importance that we handle this right, Aali! I might be the only person who can save that little girl. And I don't want to fail for their lack of faith in my abilities, so we have to make an impression. We have to be taken seriously."

"It is not because it is Harry Potter's daughter, is it?" he asks me, a sardonic brow raised.

I froze. Did he know? How could he know? How could he? I had doubled my suffering over the years by resisting to call that name even once. I thought I had been so careful.

"This is not some celebrity thing is it Ustad? Because if it is, I must tell you it is most uncharacteristic of you and I am extremely disappointed…"

Oh. Thank you, God! He didn't know.

"No! No no no no! No such thing, you idiot! It is as I am telling you! Now just do as I say!" I shoved him towards the Floo-place. The shove was more symbolic, as I could hardly move him an inch on my own. The sturdy git.

Huffing and rolling his eyes he crouched in front of the fire place grabbing a huge fist of Floo powder from the side, piece of paper with the instructions and hotel suite phone number in hand, and threw the powder into the magic flames that still made me nauseous to look at for days once the memories hit again.

" 101 Bagshot Street, New Potter residence," he said loud and clear. All irritation and scepticism was gone from his voice. I moved to the far left window, just out of the range of the Floo view. My heart was beating so fast that I was sure it was going to leap out of my chest at any moment and bounce around the room like a rubber ball at the most inopportune moment. And this was after taking the calming draught less than ten minutes before.

The flame burned idle for ten seconds before it finally connected. International network problems.

The view of a cosy modern living room rose in the flat wall of flames with just a slight tinge of green. Just like Muggles, wizards had also made improvements in technological departments. It was only mandatory that the Potters were connected to the Ultra -9F network.

A dog lay leisurely just in front of the view. It came alert straight away as the Floo must have flared in the grate in front of which it was languishing. It scrambled up quickly and barked short loud barks with its snout turned upwards.

What was that all about?

A few seconds later someone walked into the Floo view.

And the bouncing heart stopped in my chest.

But that was just me. Frozen in time. Standing again in front of a huge Floo place, life bleeding away. Green and ashes. Memories were seeping into the present. And at the time, there was just no time for that. I will not be paralysed like this.

On a second look, I realized that though he looked extremely like young Harry Potter, this was not him, but his son. Most definitely son. Harry Potter was not a teenager anymore.

"I am calling for a Mr Albus Severus Potter on behalf of Ustad Beyazlamak," Aali said, dignified and professional, just as any assistant of a high-profile something would ask, I was oddly proud of him. Potter's child against my own. Because no matter the technicalities, Aali was my child, my son.

The boy almost leapt into the fireplace it seemed as to how fast he crouched in front of the fireplace .

He was handsome, but looked tired and was still in some sort of pyjamas.

"YES! Yes! I am Albus Severus Potter," he almost shouted. smoothing his dark hair with one hand for some strange reason. "I wrote the letter to the honourable Ustad. I did not think I would get a reply so quickly. Though I do hope you are calling me with good news!" He smiled nervously. Definitely not the same Potter.

The boy was blabbing.

"Well, my master has instructed me to tell you, that he is interested in treating your sister, but only on the condition that your father, the legal guardian of your sister, calls him on the telephone himself and make the request of Ustad Beyazlamak to travel all the way to the United Kingdom to treat your sister personally."

"Wow! Thank you! Thank you so much! I do not have words! My father is just upstairs, I can call him now to the Floo to make the request right now if that would be acceptable."

What? Now? No! Not face to face. Never! He would never agree to this if he knew who I really was. He cannot know before he makes the request. I want to tell Aali, but he is not looking at me. This is going to be ruined.

"No, Mr. Potter, my master is not here at the moment and he would like to receive this request personally, he is very particular with his requirements. It is the least you can do in return for the favour he is about to do you. Kindly ask your father to call him on the phone number that I will give you now, between the hours of five and seven on your side. Not before or after."

I am a little startled at how Slytherin and superior Aali sounds. I wonder if I have given him that. I had always admitted to myself at times begrudgingly enough, that had Aali ever gone to Hogwarts, he would have been sorted into Gryffindor before the hat even touched his head. For a moment, I was not so sure anymore.

"Yes, definitely yes, it would be no problem. I am sorry that I did not mention phone number in the letter, we do have one at home." The boy is smiling most hopefully. His eyes sparkling.

"Excellent, then I hope that will allow your father to call within the hours I have specified. Please note down the number…"

A few minutes later the Floo extinguishes on another special note of gratitude from the boy.

Albus Severus Potter.

He resembled his father very strongly. Same bright eyes, dark, thick indomitable hair, perfectly balanced face, though his jaw was squarer than his father's, more like his mother and had a tiny addition of a light spray of freckles on his nose and cheeks.

He had intelligence and easy charm when days were good, I could tell. But very little charisma, nothing even close to his father's.

Albus Potter in his heart of heart was a happy boy. A normal boy.

Harry Potter was a haunted one.

Which added to his mystery.

And beauty too, for those who had the eye for that kind of thing, which I did.

Harry Potter even underneath the layers of careless over-sized clothes, bedraggled hair and hideous glasses was a monument. A true hero, half god – half human. Different from everyone no matter how much he tried to pass off as ordinary and how much he tried to blend in, he stood out. He was unique. He was on a plain high above all others, without even knowing it.

I smiled at my folly. The thought that I ever held even that bleeding sliver of hope in my heart was funny.

I never stood a chance.

And now I would make sure that the chance would not stand me.


	2. Grief be mine I ask you so

_**Author's note: **_

_**Some of you will notice that I have changed the summary of the story a bit. It turns out that Valebis does not exactly mean farewell in Latin context of Good bye, but in context of wishing health and happiness. It is a lucky chance really as my story relates to both its meaning, hence the title shall stay.**_

_**Thanks for reading this story. It is a Veela!Fic and in coming chapters you will realize how so even if it does not seem that way right now.**_

_**This chapter is Harry's POV. If you have read my other stories, this will not come to you as a surprise. But let me just say it now, that it might not be the case as the story progresses. I will be telling most of this story from Draco's Pov and only bringing in Harry when necessary. This is Draco's story.**_

_**I would like to specially Thank Piglett, B00ksy9 and Meliyah for their sweet comments!**_

_** Meliyah: You could not have given me a bigger compliment than the one you did. I hope You will keep liking and reading my stories. I do write them for you. Thanks to you!**_

* * *

_**Chapter 2. Grief be Mine, I ask you so…(Harry)**_

_(Dec, 20__th__ 2020)_

There is much said about heartache.

I only wish at times that it also said that heartache could kill you.

Because then I would have the guarantee that this tragedy would kill me, eventually.

But death is the one thing that has always eluded me.

But never those whom I loved.

Never those who I needed more than breathing.

She grows frailer every single day.

My little angel, my only daughter.

It is not possible for her grow frailer or healthier in the state that she is in, but it feels so.

Like every day that passes by is a loss.

Even if her condition remains unchanged.

This is my worst nightmare. And I know that by the end of it, I will not be coming out unscathed.

I wish for a miracle every day. I have had plenty of them in my time. I want just one more and then I shall wish for nothing more.

I would happily forfeit my own life in exchange of hers if someone half asks for it.

I never thought I could be more broken than I was.

They always say, never say never.

No one has any answers. They poked her, pinned he, prodded her, but they have no answers.

It is not a potion.

It is not a curse.

They are unable to detect the source of it.

And now, the best of them says, that it is as if her natural born magic is the culprit.

I pleaded with them to take it away. We would love our child just the same provide her with the best life possible still.

But they say it is impossible as something else guards it inside her, and connects it to her very life force.

My Lily.

My sunshine.

I am losing her.

And it is unbearable.

We should never have named her Lily.

We should never have had her, we could have saved her all this pain.

But she had come most unexpectedly. In direst of times when our home was on the verge of breaking.

And we had taken her as a sign. I had taken her as a sign. To mend it all back. To finally clamp down on the feeling of not belonging. To give our family a chance.

Lily. My beautiful Lily!

You will turn my heart to stone child. Just hang in there.

Tears. Tears wash our hands, her small frail one clasped securely in mine. It was this hand when it was even smaller that had connected me back to everything. That had stopped me from floating away. That had tethered me back to it all.

"Dad?"

I am pulled out of my heart bursting grief by the voice of my son.

My other tether.

Albus.

I quickly wipe away my tears. I am needed to be strong. Albus is so positive, to see me like this would break his heart. James, may not show any love towards me, but to see me like this will affect him even more than it would Albus. I know we will never get along, but we will love each other more than anything always.

"Yeah?" I answer, keeping my back towards him.

I hear the door close as he enters.

"I thought you were going to stay home for the lunch hour…" he says his firm hand finally clasping on my shoulder.

"I wasn't very hungry, and I wanted to see Lily before I went back to work."

"Never mind, I bought some Shepherd's Pie from Gobblers, and alongside I bring some good news."

He pulls a chair in front of me and another between us before settling the paper bag on it, carefully bringing out the forks, a small container of what looks like chili-bean gravy and a hot container of one of the best Shepherd's pies in London.

Albus, always so careful about the details. So precocious. So well-mannered… So Slytherin.

It might have been a surprise for everyone when he was sorted into the house everybody loved to hate, but it was not a surprise to me.

Albus is brilliant, Albus is ambitious, curious, with a healthy dosage of pride and protectiveness, But I think it was the Calculative part of his personality that must have tipped the hat in the Slytherin direction.

A Potter in Slytherin. It had been an outrage. And then Albus, with all his charm had turned it into the most natural thing for anyone to accept. He knows very well how to manipulate people's affections. He knows very well how to get what he wants. He is a strong child.

Not a child anymore though.

He has all the things a snake is supposed to have.

And where it could have gone wrong, his mother and I had done all we could to keep things positive for him.

By the time Albus had graduated from Hogwarts. Slytherin had been back on the popularity map.

Whereas James, the epitome of Gryffindorism, had gone along the lines most Slytherins went back in our days. Complete with minions and a superiority complex. A star Quidditch player, head boy, so on and so forth. Brawny and temperamental.

All my children. So different but bonded so closely together.

Albus' way of coping with Lily's illness has been to aggressively look for a cure. Stay always at hand. Take a year break from his apprenticeship to be a constant presence at his sister's and family's side.

James way has been of staying away as far as possible. The two times he has been to see Lily in past 2 months, did not go very well, and he had ended up cutting short his break from the League Quidditch and going back to Belgium after just staying one night.

Ginny blames me. Of course she does. And as from the very beginning of our marriage. James has been and still remains a sore spot between us.

I believe she spoils him too much. Which she does.

And she believes I am too hard on him. Which I am.

But only because she is always too soft.

"I got a reply from the healer I told you about… The one in Turkey?"

Albus nudges me to start eating. Always worrying, always watching.

That is indeed good news. Any sliver of a chance, even something different at this point is a good news.

But if I remember correctly, Albus had told me that it might take at least a month to contact the… Monk healer I think it was. It was most probably a refusal if the reply had come so quickly. But Albus did say 'good news'

"That was quick. What did he have to say?"

He smiles a genuine smile. It always reminds me of Fred for some reason and I can never help smiling back.

"It was his assistant or some such person, they said that he is interested in coming to see Lily as soon as possible, but on the condition that you, her father and legal guardian talk to the Ustad over the phone and ask him personally and invite him to UK. You have to make the phone call between five and seven 'o'clock today, not before, not after, he was very specific about this and I personally think brilliant wizards, healer and monks should be indulged in their eccentricities… So you will not mess this up."

"Okay! Alright!" I raise my hands up in surrender. He must have seen skepticism on my face hence the threat. "I'll make the call, and the request, though once he is here, you are responsible."

"Goes without saying Dad… We should be ready for all eventualities. He might want to move Lily from here. I have read from his case files that he likes to create a specific environment for his healing and all, so in case it is needed, I was thinking of popping in at the townhouse and making some arrangements?"

The sparkle in his eyes can make me agree to anything. I live to see this sparkle in my children's eyes. It is all there is to me. And I have not seen it in Albus' eyes for months. I would agree to a death sentence under the daze of that sparkle. Not that I would ever let them know that. All three of them would walk all over me. Lily can be specially devious with advantages like that.

The thought alone rips my heart apart. It is a heavy day today, but it is starting to look up.

I nod at my awaiting son.

"Brilliant. So, please be home by five on all costs dad! You have to phone him between five and seven and I want to be there when you do."

He chatters all through the meal. Talking about the possibility that the Healer monk might have seen something in the reports Albus had dispatched him alongside his letter for the reply to come so quickly and positive. He is full of hopes and dreams. Spouting off medical jargon, half of which even I understand by now, being a permanent fixture at 's for so long and talking to more healers with more complicated explanations of what my daughter might and should be suffering from but never was.

We have not had hope like this for a while.

And though my heart is reluctant of the fall that seems so far eventual, I cannot help but hope.

So I smile and agree. Until it is time for me to go and check on my other obligations.

He embraces me as I make my way to the door. Eyes filled with un-shed tears, eyes, so much like my mother's Eyes so much like my Lily's.

"I really have a very good feeling about this! He has worked miracles before dad, it is why he stays so secretive, otherwise people would tear him apart to get at him. I really feel as if this is the right way… I really believe that if anyone can heal Lily, it is Beyazlamak."

I feel like exploding with the melancholy I feel for my situation and pride I feel for my son, mixing all together in this moment. And I admit that in this moment I too feel like at being at the precipice of a break-through. I need that Potter luck now. Desperately.

"I know… I have to go…"

"Yes yes, Magical Britain won't stand for a minute longer if you are not there to put the fresh toothpicks under it. But please be home around five, I have asked mum to come here then so I'll meet you at home."

"I am very proud of you my little snake." I take my leave.

* * *

"Victoria…" I solemnly greet my secretary as I make way to my office, noticing the waiting memos suspended in front of my door.

"Harry dear, did you have a nice lunch?" she asks standing up primly, a benevolent smile on her face. It is as if she can tell that I did have Lunch. The smile is indicative of that. The prim, stern expression means she knows that I haven't eaten anything.

So it is a smile today. Thank you Albus.

"Yes, Albus got me some Shepherd's pie, anything important?"

"Not as such, apart from a few more owls from Parkinson. She wants to meet and discuss the enforcement of the new Centaur decree passed in yesterday's session, I have owled her back on your behalf with a meeting date in March." The mischief in her eyes is not very well-concealed.

The old Battle-axe.

Pansy Parkinson is the new Dolores Umbridge of the ministry of magic and the bane of my existence. It has been two years that I have been the head of Magical Law Enforcement Department and she has done nothing but question my "mild" law enforcing methods. It has gotten to the point that even the Minister of Magic has asked his office to placate her requests for meetings.

And we are talking about Percy Weasley, who lives for the sake of meetings.

"I don't think any display of gratitude that I can offer you my lady will be sufficient for the kindness you have shown me! I am forever in your debt."

"Oh you charmer you! Get your pert arse into your office unless you have another favor to ask of me." she says, eyes sparkling even more.

"I do actually. Can you get Carlotta to run a silent inquiry for me? There is a Healer Monk somewhere in Turkey, goes by the name of Ustad Beyazlamak, can you ask her to get all information she can on him and deliver it to my office in the next hour or so?"

"Master Silver?" she says confused.

"Pardon?"

"Ustad Beyazlamak is Turkish for Master Silver, or rather become white.."

"Become white?"

"That is what Beyazlamak means, in Turkish."

"To become white?"

"That is what I said."

"That is a strange name, stranger yet that you know it's meaning."

"I lived the first fifteen years of my married life in Istanbul you know, I did pick up the language."

"So… the names like Ustad Beyazlamak are common in Turkey?"

"No, names like Ustad Beyazlamak are not, but titles are. They like to give titles to important people. For example, their revolutionary leader is Ataturk. Ataturk is not a name but an honorary title, which means Father of Turks. His real name was Mostapha Kamal, if this healer Monk is called by a title in such a casual way, it must mean he has done something heroic. Turks don't bestow titles on just anyone. They are very serious with that sort of thing. And if a monk is referred to by his title rather than his name, that means the highest honor possible is given to the said Monk."

"I see, so this Monk Healer must have done something good to get a title like… Silver? Whiten? Lighten?" this is reassuring. If he is that well-reputed, it could only be good. Albus had not gone into any details only mentioned it in passing since he was not sure if his request would even be considered for some reason. So I have not paid much attention then.

"Well, it is not the Whiten, lighten, silver part of the title really, it is the Ustad part that means it is a title given out of respect."

"That is as good as a testimonial you could get yes?"

"I should suppose so…" she says behind me as I finally make my way into my office. Memo planes following.

It all means less and less to me every passing day.

My job, the law, position, reputation, magic.

And I cannot hide behind my daughter's ailment in admittance of this fact.

It had started long before that. This feeling of despair. Melancholy.

Dissatisfaction.

This… non-pain that at times just skirts around the edges of my consciousness. It has taken years for me even diagnose it as such.

I often wonder if everyone feels this as acutely as I do. And so often.

I don't feel old, but I feel worn.

I love my family, I love my home, I even love my wife in some form still, though we are more of house-mates than spouses now, when she does allow me to stay which is often since Lily's sickness. It does not hurt as much as it should. The fact that she refused the divorce, just because she was comfortable with the security and privilege of being the wife of… Harry Potter.

I cannot blame her. I do not blame her. The blame is all mine. I should have not married her in the first place.

I had started to feel this strange despair for the first time when it had only been one month to our engagement, and it only grew.

The moment I had finished the grace period as an Auror I had pushed for marriage. Just to fill the bottomless pit inside me. I felt that marriage could fill it. I was so sure marriage would fill it. So at the age of barely Nineteen, I was standing at the alter and watching my bride walk down the aisle.

And in that second. I had recognized the wrongness of it. I had known then and there that it was not going to do anything for the emptiness. I could not feel the happiness, the joy, the love. Where had it gone? Was it ever there?

Sex filled it for short intervals. That was the only reprieve. And Ginny found me an enthusiastic lover. James came barely ten months after the wedding and Albus followed exactly a year after James.

Children filled it for a slightly longer period. I felt the happiness of a particular kind. It worked for the longest while. Until Aidan Montgomery.

I saw him on a lunch break in a muggle restaurant.

Tall, pale, blond, beautiful and refined Aidan Montgomery.

He was breath-taking.

The sexual attraction that I felt towards him was too strong to ignore. And before I knew I was crawling out of his king-size bed and healing and concealing the love-bites in his posh bathroom.

It was a whip-lash affair. I had thought that Aidan was a Muggle, but he was actually a squib and knew exactly who I was.

But to my advantage and his disadvantage, he had fallen in love.

And thanks to my lucky stars, he was a genuinely decent guy.

It went on for two months. In the beginning I did fancy myself in love. The guilt of it was over-whelming. But it was not a guilt I felt on behalf of my wife. No, I could never detect the source of that guilt, because I also felt it with Ginny, not that she ever noticed. I was still the perfect husband at home.

In two months, Aidan did realize that I did not return his feelings. And I realized that I did not want to hurt him anymore than I already had. So we parted through mutual understanding.

And Aidan moved to France, where he married a wizard and recently adopted a child. He still sends me festival greetings every now and then.

And hence the pit was wide open again, but I kept it under wraps. At times it was as if it was not there at all, and then there would be days when the void grew so oppressive that I almost lost control. It was as if I had bouts of it. I wanted to run away, do something drastic. I buried myself in work during those days. I talked less and less and worked more and more.

I got accolades for my pain of course.

We took the MLE by storm, Of course the shadow eye of that storm was Ronald Weasley and I dragged him alongside me into longest working hours possible. But together we cleaned up unnecessary rubbish in chain of commands. Simplified administrative levels. Increased efficiency. It was all necessary because since Children, we both had realized that doing Patrols was not going to cut it. We needed to make Britain safe, safest it has ever been for our children to grown up in. Neutralize any danger before it actually came into being. We Formed and trained the SWLE (Specialized Wizarding Law Enforcement) department a sort of Wizarding intelligence agency, which worked under the MLE head directly and had amalgamated the Hit-wizards and Strategic and tactical planning dept. This department in which only hand-picked wizards and witches were interned every year was responsible for the lowest crime rate Wizarding Britain had ever seen and we were soon going to be branching out into the muggle Britain, covertly of course. Something on which Hermione was working most vigorously on.

But, little did I know that there are things even I could not save my children from.

Things came to head the spring before Lily arrived just after Christmas.

Ginny had confronted me after another absent weekend. And I had exploded.

And she had exploded in return.

And in our explosion of lust filled angry sex, Lily was conceived.

And at the same time Ginny had found out that I was not in love with her… anymore.

I loved her, but I was not in love with her.

And it changed our lives yet again.

It broke her heart, I know it did because we were never the same after that but we made it work for the sake of the children. It was an easy promise to make and it stoppered my despair for some reason. Hermione and Ron also found out about the problems we were having.

Strangely Hermione approved of our decision of staying together, while Ron did not.

Though he did not express his disapproval of it out loud, he is my best friend, we are close enough to not have to use many words to express our genuine opinion.

I did not ask him the reason for it until a few months ago, almost ten years later. When all pretense of a relationship between me and Ginny even for the sake of children fell apart after Lily left for Hogwarts.

We were drinking at our favorite pub, 'mournebrating' as Ron put, the state of my marriage which was that I had moved to Grimmauld Place which we used as a townhouse at Ginny's prompting. Suddenly she could not stand "zombie" me walking around the house.

We were both drunk on Ogden's finest when he simply explained in a tone far too sober than intoxication permitted.

"You were lied to and kept from most of the truths of your life from the very beginning Harry. No one you loved and deserved full love from put you first. Yes, your mother died trying to save you, but she died Harry, she wasn't there when you needed her the most was she? And in keeping your marriage with Ginny, you were starting that whole cycle again. Hell, you started the whole cycle again in Marrying Ginny in the first place. I just thought…that you have to live for yourself some time mate.. follow your own instinct, follow what your heart wants you know. That is the reason. Ginny is my sister and she is tough, tougher than all us brothers put together, but she was never one for you Harry. If it came as a surprise to her on Lily's birth that you were not in love with her, she only has herself to blame. You never fell in love with her. She was just always there, she was easy. She was not the one Harry. Not for you, not the way Hermione is for me. Ginny is for you like Lavender Brown was for me. Just there, taking the opportunity, we are blokes, we will always want the easy way out, and we will always snog the blonde if she is throwing herself at us, but there is only one Bushy haired gorgeous girl that would make my heart skip a beat with her smiles. Of all the people in the world Harry, you should have been the last one to settle. But you did. And here we are… Mournebrating the disintegration of your sham of a marriage... A toast!" he raised his glass and shocked half out of my mind I raised my glass too, to touch to his.

"To model husbands…" he shouted.

"To model husbands…" I replied, alongside half the pub feeling more alert and free than I had in past 20 years.

The next morning I got the floo call from Hogwarts which changed our lives yet again.

The end of answering memos is what brings me out of my brooding and when I finally put the quill down, Victoria enters.

"I am afraid, this is all Carlotta could get regarding your query." She hands me a parchment, which should not be a parchment at all, but a proper folder.

Carlotta is a whiz with enquiries and records and this is disappointing.

There is no picture of Beyazlamak. Only an address for an office in Nicosia.

And copy of an authorization certificate from some association called "Yardim Eli"

"Yardim Eli?"

"Means, 'a helping hand'. It is well-known philanthropic wizarding association, they work all over the Asian continent and are active in the Mediterranean. In fact, I think in Britain, they collaborate with the committee that works under Mrs. Audrey Weasley, the Minister's wife. Glowing wands… They have a one student scholarship quota with both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons." She says handing me, thankfully a bunch of papers with information regarding Yardim Eli. I skim through it. Complete with the list of students that have studied under the scholarship. Few of which are still in Britain.

"Really? Do we have any of these scholarship students working here in the ministry?"

"Yes, there is a young sweet witch in Transportation. Aliya Dawood, Algerian I think."

"Check if she is on shift, and send for her immediately if she is."

"This sounds very serious, is something the matter?" she asks me, a small frown gracing her gracefully aged face.

"I would just like to know more about the man who I am going to hand my daughter's life in, that is all.." she freezes in her preparation to depart and straightens to look at me with her still sharp light brown eyes. I call them the Ravenclaw eyes.

"I don't remember you enquiring about all the healers at St. Mungo's who prodded and poked at that dear child relentlessly without even giving a single positive answer. Are you going to refuse help from this monk healer if his credentials fails to check out to your satisfaction? What were your credentials when you were made to stand against the darkest wizard the world has ever known Harry? A prophecy made by a mad as a hatter Divinity professor?"

"What are you suggesting then? That I should not enquire about this Monk healer? That I should just…"

"Trust your son's instinct, yes. He is the only one who has any faith in Lily's recovery Harry, let us be honest. If you refuse this healer's help and Merlin forbid Lily goes anyway, you will not lose one child but two Harry. Albus will never forgive you your skepticism."

And that is the truth of the matter. If Hermione and more importantly Rose's efforts have not bore any fruit then I have little faith anything else will. Rose does not believe that Lily can be saved anymore, but she still helps her best friend Albus with all his research and extra work. Both are training healers and would graduate in a year or so. Rose in counter healing dark magics and Albus in Diagnostics.

Perhaps I should let it go. Victoria is of course right. I do not want to lose Albus too and my refusal would break his heart and actually I have already said yes, so all this running around will not help much. Perhaps I should just let fate do its thing now. I nod at awaiting Victoria solemnly and she smiles a tight proud smile in return.

"You need to get going in next fifteen minutes to make that phone call." She says as she is stepping out again.

"How do you…?" it is of no use. She smiles at me smugly before closing the door behind her. Of course.

Victoria knows everything. Just like Molly Weasley, who she is the childhood best friend of. And who recommended Miss Victoria Hoult to me in the first place. 'Like the Novellist dear, but with an added U…'

Which is why she is indispensible. Just like Molly Weasley. The good-for-everything, nit-picking, all knowing old hags. Oh how I love them.

* * *

It is still ten minutes to five, but Albus is pacing the length of the living room. While Bilbo, our dog watches him warily from his spot in front of the floo place. He darts to me just as I step out of it. The Dog. My son is still pacing on his strange route. I watch him while he ignores me and keeps pacing and I realize that the cordless phone on its cradle is the center-point of his pacing route.

I remove my cloak and then the auror robe. It's drab and cold in London, but the chances of a white Christmas are slim. Here in Godric's hollow, it is snowing almost daily and we are bound to have nothing but a white Christmas it seems.

"You should have given them the phone number of the Grimmauld place. Now I will have to floo to 's."

"I did not give them any number, they gave me theirs Dad. And asked to call between five and seven."

"And that couldn't be done from Grimmauld place?"

"It did not occur to me." he says before making his way to the kitchen.

I sit down on the couch by the phone and it is not long before my lap is full of a russet beast of a Labrador. He is the fourth child of the family. Lily's first pet ever. Which she named after her favorite character from her favorite book. The only one she could pronounce fast enough repetitively. Bilbo.

Bilbo too suffers just like the rest of us in Lily's absence and wouldn't eat properly at first when Lily had to be admitted to St. Mungo's. Slowly and resiliently, Albus got through to the mutt and now Bilbo can often be found sleeping on top or just beside Albus protectively.

And guards the floo like always.

I run my fingers soothingly into its beautifully kept russet pelt. It is more to comfort me than him. Albus comes back a few minutes later with a mug of steaming hot tea. And picks phone from its cradle before sitting next to me and dialing a really long number. From memory.

Of course. Albus Severus Potter does not rely on pesky little parchment pieces. His greatest weapon and asset is his mind. At times I can see something of Snape in him clear as day, especially when he is angry, he tends to mince his words between his gritted teeth eerily like the old dungeon bat.

He hands me the phone after turning on the speaker and takes a sip of his tea.

The line rings four times until it is answered.

"Yes?" the greeting is soft voiced, almost shy, but curt.

"Is this Ustad Beyazlamak speaking?" I ask just as politely and curtly. This is for the sake of my son.

"Yes, it is _Beyazlamak_." The way he says Beyazlamak is distinctly different from how we pronounce it and I see Albus mouthing it as well.

"This is Harry James Potter. I am calling you on behalf of my son, who wrote you a letter regarding the condition of my daughter. Your… associate mentioned that you wanted me to personally speak with you and make the request?"

"Lily Luna yes?" comes after a slight pause.

I shoot a look at Albus, who shrugs at me to go along with it and just agree.

"Yes Lily Luna, my youngest, who is suffering from mystery magical seizures."

There is another pause.

"Well?" he asks me after the pause. This is getting strange now.

"Well, what? You asked me to call? So I am calling…" Albus is paling now. And I am losing patience.

"Calling for what?" he asks, tone still the exact same.

"Calling to make the request, of course." I answer the infuriating man. Is he absolutely barmy.

"Request regarding what?" he asks in the same calm soft and curt tone.

"What the…" Albus' clamped hand on my arm is the only thing that makes me stop from insulting the moron. And Albus thinks this man can cure my Lily? I take a deep calming breath.

"You associate said that I needed to call you and ask you personally to kindly visit us in Britain and take the case of my daughter. To heal her of her malady."

"And are you requesting that I come all the way to Britain to heal your daughter of her mysterious illness? Because you keep on repeating what my assistant asked you, told you and why you are calling…" It is the longest he has spoken and I recognize his accent as British. It is clear as a bell. So he is most probably British or has spent a considerable amount of time in Britain.

I shoot a glare at Albus, who is smiling now in a strange way, as if delighted.

"Just say the words Dad…" he whispers chuckling slowly.

"Yes, I am requesting that, I want you to come to Britain, and treat my daughter, and heal her. I ask this of you as her father and legal guardian. And I will provide with whatever you may require during the course of my daughter's treatment. Transport, lodgings, expenses, fee, anything. Will you accept?"

"Yes I will accept. I shall be there on approaching Saturday afternoon." He says plainly.

"I can arrange a port key for you if…"

"No, that will not be necessary, I can find my own way to Britain. I shall meet you and young Mr. Potter at the Hospital. Do give him my regards and tell him that his comprehensive test report was very nicely compiled. You must be very proud of him."

Albus is literally blushing and glowing at the praise. This means a lot to him.

"I am, very proud of him." I say ruffling his hair with my free hand.

"Yes. Good evening." Comes the polite soft and curt reply before it is disconnected.

I stare at the phone in my hand.

"Appalling telephone manners that man has." I say plainly to barely sitting son of mine. If anyone can jump while sitting and only moving their arms, Albus can.

"Oh dad! He is brilliant! It is finally happening dad. That man will heal Lily. She will be good as new! You'll see."

"How did you deduce that from the conversation that just happened? Please enlighten me as well."

"Oh, you won't get it Dad, even if I explained it to you. But rest assured, that Lily is going to be alright."

He jumps up from the couch, unsettling Bilbo who is also on alert now noticing the excitement of his master.

"Your Tea dad! It is getting cold. I need to go and make some detailed diagnostics reports to assist him when he comes here and I need to write an application to get some days off from the internship."

I watch him rush up stairs with a child-like glee and it makes the whole house seem lighter. I see Bilbo standing in front of me and watching my face attentively.

"His accent was very British wasn't it?" I ask Bilbo. Who just turns his head to the side inquisitively.

"And he sounded… familiar, didn't he?" Bilbo blinks I imagine with an expression of curiosity.

"No… not British… Almost Welsh…? But it was covered… wasn't it?" Bilbo sits on his hind legs, looking expectant.

"I am sodding Harry Potter. I know a covered accent when I hear one. Let us just hope that Albus will not be heart-broken, like the rest of us Bilbo. Let us just hope for the best yes?"

The Dog gives a small bark, as if agreering and climbs into my lap again. The tea is indeed still scalding hot. Sneaky Albus.

* * *

TBC


	3. The steps that took me away

_**Author's Note: It is the weekend in my part of the world and i just wanted to get this out of the way... Okay, I was salivating to write this chapter and now that it is done I can concentrate on the next Chapter for TPOS. I am so thankful for the immense positive response this story is getting. **_

_**Special thanks goes out to Piglett, and Meliyah and JoannaSnape ! for their lovely lovely comments. I am forever grateful for the love you are showing this thanks to all those who are following this!**_

* * *

_**Chapter 3. The steps that took me away, left behind my soul to stay...**_

"This is all we have. I do not know how we are going to get through the next time if you take all of this now." Aali is sulking again. I know he does not like it when I travel alone.

"We'll make do, I will prepare some more when I get back." I answer to placate him, I am almost sure that I will not need it by the next time. Fourteen vials for fourteen days. I will have to return within two weeks. Then I will have roughly month and a half to prepare a batch which will be cutting it really close, though I doubt it would be necessary.

"I have never seen you use it ever during regular days, despite the fact that it would make things so much easier for you. So you are definitely lying about something. Either you are lying about how many days treating this child is going to require, just to leave me behind or this is something really dangerous and you don't want me involved." He is trying to corner me into taking him with me. But I can't. I wish he would stop nagging me, there is only so much I can endure. The freedom is calling to me. Even if I know it is a flame to my soul which is a moth and that it will kill me surely. I need to go. And Aali is not going to stop me.

He is right that I never take it on regular days. The Veela-repressent potion. For past twenty years I have only taken it during my yearly heat which comes every spring without fail. But where I am going and who I will probably be seeing each and every day I will need it.

It is true that I have lived half potential. A life of weakness and constant pain and longing. Not to downplay the impossible to ignore, painful like a deep bleeding and festering gash across your chest, longing. Longing that is the deepest part of my instinct. Longing that has been burning my insides like cinder for two long decades. Rejection that burns with every breath, bleeding seething rejection that haunts every crevice of my psyche and wounds my soul some more every single day. Rejection which is like being bound above a spitfire on a constant turn. The human me can rationalize it, does rationalize it, but the Veela does not, it calls and longs and desires for what it does and there is only so much you can fight only so much you can endure, this bone deep and constantly aching. Like a cancer spreading slowly through one's veins.

I have lasted this long incredibly because of the potion, but even that has it's expiry date, but more than the potion my endurance's expiry date is coming closer. I don't think I have it in me to trudge along five more years or so. This trip will help me burn out faster. Being close and then pulling far will surely do it. Withdrawal will be the last nail and I will be free.

Aali will not understand it, because he can never feel it or be it. He thinks I am a masochist to not demand a blood duel for claiming my mate. How can I make him understand? That even if I can win my mate through a blood duel faster than a blink, I won't be winning his heart. That was always the impossible part.

I have endured it all without fail and now is not the time to give in to temptation. I would not ruin this chance, just to face irrevocable rejection again. I have lived all my life in rejection and agony, I will not die in rejection even if agony will still be there and grow exponentially until the end. I have lived a life of banishment due to someone else's ignorance and moment of anger. But I will die on my own terms, even if it is the last thing I do. I have paid for my sins in the harshest possible way. I have more than done my due. I have made this world a better place by sheer force of will and dedication.

So I will take this potion because I will need it when I will be in such close proximity of the one who is the reason for it all, while I cure his child. I will need it like I needed it in my last year at Hogwarts and the two years after when I was on house arrest during which the only thing I did was brew the potion and perfect it for daily consumption. The widely known and used Veela-repressent potion takes more than three months to brew and is easily detectable. The Veela-repressent that Severus devised is virtually undetectable and takes Forty-two days in brewing. It is a difficult potion to brew, but incredibly uses all easily available and ordinary ingredients with the exception of Bluebell sickle-berries which are rare. But Severus had left me seeds and instruction to planting it and I now have an impressive bush of it growing in my garden. Of course the plant is so ordinary looking and so rare that most people do not know what it is.

"Think what you may. I will not change my mind. I need you to stay behind for Sarah, who if you remember is your wife and six months pregnant with your child and for the Twirlezil bush which only you can take care of in my absence. Not to mention the hours at the monastery. Only you can be my replacement and you know it. So I will not hear another word on this subject. You will stay and I will return within two weeks." I finally zip up the potion and ingredients case which I need to take with me.

The sulk continues the rest of the day while I make necessary arrangements for travel. I will be port-keying to Istanbul in the morning from Nicosia and then to Paris just to lay a nice trail in case it is looked into before finally port-keying to St. Mungo's.

The night when it comes, brings with it the time to recall the inevitable. The voice. Still familiar like it never stopped speaking to me. Familiar because never a day has gone by when I have not heard it in my broken dreams. It is still the same but also so different.

He gets angry with me even when he does not have the slightest idea who I actually am and only that I might hold the key and skills to save his ailing child. I could not help it. The last we were in presence of each other I had not gotten a chance to say more than a few words to him. No the few words I had not spoken to him but in his presence had doomed me to this fate. To him I had only said two words. His name, and plea to listen to my case.

But he hadn't. he had not given me chance.

I don't blame him really. I am incapable of it.

I only blame my fate. That had made me a freak amongst freaks.

And had chosen Harry Potter the mate of the veela that had manifested inside me for unknown reasons at the age of seventeen.

I do have several theories regarding it.

Malfoys and Blacks both had Veela blood along the lines. It was a regular practice between pure-blood families because Veela magic was so much superior to normal wizards. And once a veela had chosen a mate, the bond was encouraged.

In the past few generations none of the off-spring had dominant Veela genes.

Freak of fate as I was, it decided to manifest itself inside me. I was the first wizard born in 7 generations with dominant Veela genes. Though it would not be known until I turned sixteen and the first symptoms started to show up.

The trigger was of course, torture.

My failure to kill Dumbledore had put me in the line of fire.

And refusing to recognize and give away Harry Potter who had somehow got caught by snatchers had brought me into the embrace of fire.

Not only was I a constant target after that.

His taking and then using of my wand had bound me to him. Forced me into maturity in the aftermath. As with a wizard Veela, the presenting of his wand to its potential mate is a binding, in exchange of which the mate gives them their blood completing the binding ritual.

Courtesy suggests that if a Veela makes the proposition and presents a wand to his desired mate, the mate should never take it and refuse the binding, which will keep Veela free of any magical attachments and they can easily move on and find another suitable mate.

Taking of the wand and using it to caste magic binds the veela. As a wizard veela's wand is much more important to the veela than a normal wizard's wand is to that wizard. A veela inlays a part of his primal core magic when he uses it after hitting puberty. Hence the veela and wand become one.

When the mate takes the wand and castes magic from it, they are accepting the part of Veela's core magic and laying a claim to it. It is an acceptance to a partnership. If the potential mate takes the wand, uses it and returns it before presenting the blood in exchange, it is a rejection. Which essentially destroys the veela.

This catch is present in the binding magic for clear reasons. A male veela, unlike the female veela is always dominant. Powerful and protective, this rule keeps him in constant check that the veela does not ever abuse his hold on his mate. The heats in male veela are not always for the reasons of reproduction but for re-enforcing their bond with their mate.

Guess who got the short-end of that deal.

Harry Potter was the only potential mate I ever came across. If my incapability of casting really harmful magic against him was not an indication, then finding me in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory without knowing how I got there in that dreaded seventh year was a sign enough. I was lucky that by that time most of the Gryffindors had been hiding in the Room of requirement.

Severus had seen the signs too. And worked day and night alongside the other million impossible things he was doing to prepare an undetectable Veela-repressent potion.

And then Harry Potter had to show up at the Malfoy manor alongside Hermione Granger.

I would have known him in the crowd of a million Harry Potter impostors.

His scent was over-whelming. His presence a balm against my frayed nerves and his situation a solid threat against my instinct.

I had almost lost control.

And then he had taken my wand, when I was about to try a rescue.

I had not known the consequences of that little action then.

But I had known the consequences full well when he had returned it. Throwing it in my face after using it for three longs years.

He had not known that he had bonded me to him.

He had not known that he had the power to make me obey him.

He could not have done me more damage and more severely had he genuinely intended to as much he did without even knowing it.

It is ironic really.

As if rejection was not enough. I had to be banished as well.

It was necessary that he himself ended the banishment. Will me to be there.

I have tricked him into it. I am a Slytherin after all.

But it is a necessity.

And now this tale of pain and agony is finally going to come to an end.

Though, there is the chance that he will banish me again straight away as soon as he realizes who Ustad Beyazlamak is. This time I will be ready for him though. This time I will make sure he hears me first.

I plan to offer him an unbreakable vow against his insecurities and mistrust. It will be pretty safe as I wish nothing more than to cure his daughter. Genuinely.

Whatever I get in return is not something that will affect him or his family.

It will just have to be clean. I need to be focused on the task. I have poured more than enough over the child's report that came with the letter. I see some discrepancies which only my healer instinct picked up and I won't be able to solidly hypothesize until I see the girl myself.

By the time the sun is peeking through the horizon. I am absolutely ready to go. But I wait. Something is clinging inside me to this life, which will never be the same again by the time I will be back. If I will be back.

I sit down for my usual breakfast. Jam with a slice of sugar cake Sarah Bakes for me every now and then, and a cup of sweetened tea.

"You have to take great care of him Sarah. You are good for him." I say to her as she arranges the cabinets unnecessarily. She stops for a moment with defeated sigh she closes the tea-service cabinet, her small petite frame impossible rigid. It can't be good for her.

Her bright brown eyes when they settle on to me are sad. Sadder than I have ever seen them. She carelessly shoves her loosened black as coal ponytail behind her shoulder.

She is pretty in her special way. Petite, delicate looking but tough and nails. The amalgamation of Caucasian and Asian has unraveled beautifully in her and if she was a little conscious of herself she could have been a sight to behold.

I cured Sarah of a nightshade poisoning when she was a little girl of twelve and lived in a small settlement just at the base of the hill on which the monastery was situated. She had never stopped dogging me after that. At first Aali used to be irritated by her constant presence after school but then slowly they developed a friendship and I had always known that it would eventually turn into love. They were just so opposite and alike at the same time. She was a Muggle-born witch and at times reminded me very strongly of Granger.

Aali came from a long line of feuding Greek-Cypriot pure-blood wizarding family and his own uncle had murdered his parents. Aali had somehow escaped and after wandering around for more than two months had found his way into my backyard. On the brink of collapse.

This is my legacy I realize. Aali and Sarah. I have raised Aali and mentored Sarah. And now they are their own people. Amazing healers, independent, have found true love in life and are bringing together another human into this world.

I have done my due.

At age of Forty-one, Draco Malfoy Aka Ustad Beyazlamak will become a grandparent.

Given that he lives to see it. Which is unlikely and unfortunate.

But let this be a lesson to all, to choose your own time and take that chance.

She just nods her head at me and quietly makes her way to the garden.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

I don't look like someone who could be a grandfather.

An Uncle yes. Perhaps.

I know I have an impact on people when they meet me.

Dominant Male Veelas are rare and getting even rarer as time passes.

Most people don't even recognize us anymore.

True that because of the rejection, the allure is tamped down.

But even without it, I know I am a sight to behold.

Long silver hair which, having lost the gold in them as I have lost most of the color over the years.

Narrow line of my body is not because of the bone structure but the… circumstances.

I have never gotten to my full-potential because I have never had a day with none of my Veela repressed and after that rejected.

So I remain lithe. Slender. Face still narrow and features still more like my mother's than my father's.

Paleness of my skin remains despite living in the Mediterranean, which is actually why I was given the title. It is more descriptive and Ironic at the same time. Beyazlamak means 'to whiten' which is exactly how anyone would describe me. I am white and pale and silver and get whiter, paler and silverer every day.

And they haven't seen my wings yet or that name and title would be re-enforced twice more. I am thankful that they only sprout during the heats and I am usually indoors and isolated at that particular time.

I look down at my hands. Noticing the glass like sheen in my nails. Once I take the potion the sheen will blur and make my nails look ordinary. My hands, fingers, skin, eyes, everything will dull down once the potion starts its work.

It will help with the pain too.

The constant tug that starts somewhere in my throat and travels down to my navel.

I don't know how I had kept my voice steady on the phone when I spoke with him.

The shudder that had taken hold of me had made my decision then and there that I will have to take the potion constantly. That was the only way I would be able to concentrate enough to fix his daughter.

Fix his daughter. I can't say that an end to this pain and agony is the only motivation behind this decision.

Some deep yet unavoidable part of me wants him to feel something other than hatred for me. It is a soul deep desire. I had never fooled myself to think I would ever have his love, in any form or way. I am almost sure that the thought of me has never even passed his mind in past twenty years. While every breath I had taken, feeling the pull of him on my psyche even from this much distance has never let me stop thinking about him.

Respect? Gratitude? Yes, that is what I can hope for if I am successful in curing his child. And then I can finish this business with at least one triumph.

He evened out the life-debt with me. I saved him in Malfoy Manor, he saved me in the room of lost things. The boy that is frozen somewhere inside me and refuses to grow up, thinks it would be a final victory. Harry Potter will owe me once more. And will have no way to repay the debt as I will be long gone. That is if he cares to.

I open the drawer of my study desk that is situated just in front of the French window and take out the black-stained wooden box that carries one of my most prized possessions. The one thing that gave away my soul so easily into the hands of the one who saw no use for it.

The wand. That remained in possession of Harry Potter for three long years. The possession of this wand made him the master of the Elder Wand. The wand which he threw back in my face. Refusing to return the core magic that had also gone into his possession alongside it. What use is this piece of wood to me? Apart from the fact that it is still dipped in the scent of him. Still has the scorch marks from when it fought flawlessly for the savior of the world.

My heart beats frantically as my shoulder blades and finger tips itch. The Veela inside me recognizes the scent of his mate. And then the acute despair at him not being present.

Yes, my decision is right.

If Aali had felt such despair for twenty years straight he would understand.

Keeping the wand in hand I uncork the potion bottle swirling the dark lilac liquid inside twice before I drink it down in one swallow.

The silky slide of the tangy liquid goes smoothly down my palate. Warming and soothing. Soon the haze of soothed nerves is all I can feel. The sheer contrast of it from the sharp acute itching and restlessness is nothing less than a blessing. After resting and breathing deeply for a moment or two I finally bring the wand nearer to my face and inhale deeply.

The scent is still the most prominent thing, but it is tamped down. Not as strong or over-whelming as it was before drinking the potion.

The despair and the instinctual longing search is also quiet.

Very few people know how it is to live with an animal lurking inside them.

Even fewer know how it is to live with a being inside them.

A being, stronger, smarter, more magical and more instinctual.

No I don't suppose anyone who doesn't suffer from it will understand how it feels.

Satisfied with the reaction of the potion, I summon my travelling cloak, A sandy Dove grey coloured one, hand-knitted by mountain elves of Ulan Bator. Presented to me as a gift for my healing services. It is but one of thousands stored carefully in this house. I have given a list of things to Aali to be sent to the manor from my hoard of magical gifts. If all else fails, there are a few I can give a try to heal her. I remember that I will also need to settle the matter of my estate and nominate my heir.

I am glad I have someone in mind.

It was never easy for me to leave my identity behind like a snake sheds skin. But it had to be done and I have never had an easy time with it.

You see my banishment wasn't just from my homeland.

In his ignorance, atrocious ignorance he had banished me from my identity as well.

Ordered me to die a nameless death. And a nameless death can only come if you live a nameless life. In an obscure part of the world. So I had wandered to more and more obscure parts of the world. Even by muggle standards.

Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Estonia…gathering skills all over the place, healing mostly. North Cyprus is by far the most developed place I have lived in and it is not even present on most maps. The confusion regarding its status as a country and state is what makes it so perfectly obscure. Where the local muggles consider it a state under Turkish rule, the wizarding community consider it still a part of actual Cyprus. It helps that there is no actual wizarding community in Kyrenia only a small street with a few houses of wizards and of course the monastery which is the also the only institute that trains young witches and wizards in most Kyrenia and adjacent districts and is also perhaps the only magical healing facility in all of Cyprus. There is a small blooming wizard town in Lefkosa, the capital though. Which is well and good.

North Cyprus' sleepiness and insistence on not becoming popular is what made me make it my home. It's beauty and serenity is just a bonus.

I look up at the brooding sky as I make my way out of my Villa. I have lived in it for over ten years now. It is modern and very muggle. Rather smallish with three bedrooms, but that is just what it looks like. It was made by a great Turkish wizard architect who inlaid very strong protection and concealment spells on it while it was being built. Turkish are known all over the world for their Magical prowess when it comes to architecture and building. There is a reason the old Watch castle on the western shore remains intact after seeing two millennia worth of war and constant use. There is a reason the old monastery, turned abbey turned monastery again stands perfectly intact after hundreds of years of usage. This house has been home for a long time.

I would have made it magical if it wasn't because I had not chosen it for the magic in the first place. I only chose it for the First floor Bedroom adjacent study and large terrace space that looks over the monastery on one side and Kyrenia on the other facing to the north east which is perfect to grow herbal potion ingredients. And of course the garden space surrounding the house to cultivate some more difficult specimen.

Aali used to live in the bedroom downstairs but had moved into a small apartment in a muggle complex just five minutes' walk down hill. Not that he ever deigns to trek all the way, up or down. He's lazy enough to never take the brisk walk up or down and hasty enough to never stop and smell the flowers.

It is just so that it always rains on the significant days of my life. In North Cyprus, it only rains a few times every year and most of it happen during the winter months. As it happens today is one of those days. I slide out my wand from my pocket sleeve. It is not the one that binded me to my fate but another that is unique in its make. Sacred Olive wood and veela hair. It is a strange stale grey colour because of the mature wood and strange coloured wood it is made of. Monotone like the rest of me. It works for me very nicely and could have been temperamental but the Olive wood has a warm and meditative nature which neutralizes the volatility of Veela hair core. The hair came from me of course which makes this that much more efficient, like an extension of myself.

I look back once I reach the Wrought Iron garden gate and see Sarah and Aali standing just by the door to the house their faces grim. I smile a reassuring smile and turn away.

This isn't good bye.

* * *

It is as if the whole world is mourning my return white. The snow is much the rule in Wiltshire and I am surprised at how much I have missed it. Not the snow in general really, but the snow here. I am thankful for the tall shoes I had decided to wear because the snow is thick. I trudge along where I remember the pathway use to be until I reach the old and brittle looking Wrought-iron gate.

The Manor is pretty much the same. The Christmas decorations are up in the snowed-in garden. And there is only one part of the manor lit up.

I know that I can't stay. But I can't help wanting to stand here and stare at my childhood home where I was once such a carefree boy. It is good that the House-elves have kept it in such good shape. I remember the words my father used to repeat often.. before everything fell apart.

"_This all belongs to you Draco, but mind you, never let the responsibility of it bog you down my son, the estate runs the estate, were you to not touch it ever for decades and decades, it will still run itself. And that my son is the advantage of good and sound investments. It is an extra good sense every Malfoy is born with. Cultivate yours."_

I wonder if he had said it one of the countless times in a prophetic time slot.

It is almost after two decades of absence that I return.

And it is still just as it was when I had left it.

Just like I remember it from countless yuletides of my childhood. I can almost see a blond haired boy playing in the snow with house-elves dashing about and his mother and father sitting on one of the many wrought iron benches and criticizing on his attempts at making the perfect snowman. Father ordered the house-elf assigned to me to make sure that the snow man never failed to stand up straight and once I was done it was magicked into the most perfect snow man ever.

No matter what people might think. Someone loved that boy, if only it spoiled him endlessly. He was loved, remembered, adored and never rejected. Ignored at times yes. But never rejected. That boy had not known the dark legacy of being a follower of a maniac, his grandfather and great grandfather had left behind. That little boy's father had never let him fully understand the horror that was Voldemort until it was too late.

I can still remember the haunted tears of my father as I was allowed to visit him the one time a few days before he was scheduled to get the kiss.

He had begged me for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what his bad decisions had turned our lives into. He was already a broken man by then. I wondered what more could the Dementor take from him.

I had promised myself that day that I will always remember him as he was before I went to Hogwarts.

This house is full of lovely memories of my childhood.

It is a shame that it is the place most of my nightmares also took place in and in the end when one undoes the other the only thing left behind is blank numbness.

That is enough to sober me up from my nostalgic bout. The reality of things is too much to bear down.

I turn away from the manor and swiftly walk towards the apparition point to disapparate to London.

I am thankful that the apparition Point just outside the door to 's is the same as it was twenty years ago.

The landscape has not changed as much as the environment has. Since the war, the new freedom has brought in a lot of innovation especially with the celebration of Muggle culture that become more and more evident between wizarding communities across the world. For example. Everyone has a mobile phone. Be it witch, wizard, muggle, squib.

They all have the blasted thing. It is just easier communication. Of course the wizards have modified theirs enough to have almost ever-lasting battery. Lazy sods that they are.

Then there is the check point system and the memo-mirrors surveillance. They say it is much safer now since the amazing Hero of the wizarding world Harry Potter became the head of Magical Law enforcement. They say the current minister of magic, none other than the git Percy Weasley is just a puppet in Harry Potter's hand.

I personally do not know what to believe. Truth be told, I avoided most news like the plague. It was not my world anymore so I kept no track of it. I did not want to add to my already miserable circumstance.

I do realize that I am dressed quiet strangely and I am thankful for the presence of mind to cast a notice-me-not from when I was at the manor. I flick my wand to conjure a tempus and see that it is almost four in the afternoon; I am a few minutes earlier than I intended to be. It is raining here in London too, though it is a slight drizzle very reminiscent of the last time I was here and I am glad for a moment that things around here have changed so much.

Gathering myself and thoughts I finally step out of the Apparition booth. Pressing my wand tip to the identification pad and I am successfully recognized as Ustad Beyazlamak. I have a former patient to thank for that who was kind enough to unweave the magic enough to enter this identity and wand character. But then again, I really had saved his life and undone an almost impossible dark curse. A dark curse to which in the modern magical healing there is no reversal. I used a special method I had learnt from the Peers in Pakistan involving a plant called Tulsi and some spell work in Hindko.

I am hoping to use all my acquired knowledge to cure the little girl who lies in stasis inside the hospital. Is it cruel of me that I am waiting here? That I seem to be freezing in terror and apprehension?

The question is, what could be worse than what had already happened to me? There is no logic behind panic. There is no logic behind this needless tittering. Suddenly my heartbeat is too loud. My breaths are coming too soon.

I need to gather myself even more than I have because I have not even seen him yet and I feel like I am falling to pieces. No, it is all in my head. All in my emotions. None of this instability is real. My instincts are fully under control and the veela is calm and collected. This is just me. Cowardly Draco Malfoy.

"Get yourself together boy!" I hear my father's snarl echoing in the deep crevices of memory. It is the right push. I am not a coward anymore. In fact, by the time I am done, I will make the whole world see that I was never a coward. Fragile? Yes. Coward? No.

I uncurl the collar of my Dove grey cloak and cross the bustling street. Once I enter the sliding doors The warmth of the hospital reception hits me like a balm. I undo the clasp of my cloak slowly, buying time and remove my satchel while I look around. My clothes underneath are muggle, to which I switched a long time ago. It seems so has the rest of the wizarding world. I turn a critical eye to myself noticing that my cardigan and dress shirt are all in proper order before I remove the notice-me-not and make my way towards the elaborate reception desk. The witch working behind the desk looks up from the file. I smile my politest smile. She is youngish and very short. She must have a hard time looking down from behind this tall desk.

"Good afternoon, I am here to see Miss Lily Luna Potter. I was invited by her father as a special consultant, my name is Beyazlamak. If you could be so kind as to direct me to her ward?"

I realize that she is not hearing a word I am saying, her wide eyes are fixed on my face and her mouth is slightly open but not a word is registering.

Oh yes. The looks. I forgot about that. Though the potion should have tamped it down.

Must be the hair.

I look at the badge pinned on her. "Lucinda"

"Lucinda?" I say a little firmly than before.

It startles her out of her daze.

"Oh E-E-Excuse me… h-h-how can I help you s-s-sir?"

I hate making people feel this way.

"I am here to see Lily Luna Potter. Can you possibly direct me to her or maybe you can direct me to Mr. Albus Potter?" I am grateful that my query is finally recognized.

She is about to say when with a bustle a group of people enters. I turn to look and it is like a dead weight settles in my gut.

It is Granger and Weasley. They have aged, but Granger looks much better than I remember seeing her and Weasley though is a little bulky also seems to have aged better than most. Accompanying them is a younger looking version of Granger but with red curls and freckles. She is a pretty girl and has the same keen intelligent shine in her eyes that annoyed me so much in Granger. Dear god how petty I used to be. How mean!

This must be their daughter. Oh dear God. I am not ready for this! Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

I should have ignored the bloody letter. I should have stayed in my villa on the hill and cure common colds and snotty noses.

But then Lily Luna would have died and I would have never forgiven myself. For not saving an innocent child, for hurting Harry so irrevocably.

No. I have to do this. Only I can. She might still not survive but I will have done my part. I turn back towards the witch behind the desk. Granger and Weasley are deep in a hushed conversation and pass by without noticing me thank fully. And I am almost easing when their daughter suddenly comes and stands next to me.

"Miss Weasley! Mister…." She trails off and looks up at me questioningly. I take a deep breath. There is nothing to it. They have to know who I am.

"Beyazlamak, Ustad Beyazlamak."

"Yes… he is looking…"

"Beyazlamak!?" Miss Weasley even sounds exactly like her mother. I turn towards her reluctantly with a polite smile.

"Yes, I was invited to check on Miss Lily Luna Potter? I am looking for a Mister Albus Potter?"

"Oh dear Merlin! You…." Her blue eyes, her father's, are wide too. I notice that she carries a teal green robe on her arm. A healer in training. She can't be older than eighteen though. It seems that everyone just married straight out of the war and reproduced just as quickly. With the exception of me.

"I am Rose Weasley. Lily Luna is my cousin." She has finally composed herself quickly enough. She is holds out her hand for a shake.

"Miss Weasley…" I nod and take her hand politely.

Suddenly her eyes are shining and wet.

"I cannot tell you what an honour it is sir, to finally meet you. When Albus told me you were coming I could not believe it. But here you are. And nothing at all like I expected. You are so much…." She pauses for a moment and I can see a blush spreading across her cheeks.

Oh dear merlin. Save me from young girls and unwanted admiration.

I must admit though that part of me still finds it flattering. This is the real me. Not the veela me that is having this effect on her.

"Rose?" I hear someone call from behind me.

She still has hold of my hand.

"Albus! There you are! He is here!" she finally lets go of my hand and gives me a chance to turn around.

I recognize him without fail.

Only he is much better looking in reality.

My heart clenches at the resemblance.

He is making his way towards us with a frown.

"Albus… This is Ustad Beyazlamak." Rose beams at him and then at me.

The boy turns around to look at me so fast that I am afraid he will get a whiplash.

His eyes widen too.

"My God! Really?" he blinks his large green spectacle-less eyes at me. Cheeks flushed and lips parted in… awe I guess.

Oh dear Merlin. Save me from young girls' and young gay boys' unwanted attention.

"Mr. Potter"… I offer him my hand. He grabs hold of it almost reverently.

"I am so... So grateful that you are here. I half believed that you weren't going to show up."

"I am here Mr. Potter and rest assured that I will be here for as long as it takes me to heal your sister. I am here for no other reason."

Tears fill in those green eyes so much like his father's.

"Thank you.. Thank you so much!"

"I will do my very best by your sister . Let us hope that I am allowed to do so."

His brow furrows a little.

"Of course you will be allowed Ustad. The hospital has no right to contest you if we have given you our consent. I have even arranged for Lily to be moved to our townhouse if you require so." The determined set to his chin is all his mother.

I need one ally on my side. I turn to look towards Mini Granger who matches her cousin in expression. Two is better than one. Let us just hope that the new generation does not hate death eater Slytherin scum like their parents did.

"It is not the hospital I am worried about not giving consent, I know the law very well myself. It is actually your parents."

"Our parents? I don't think so Ustad, if you are insecure about radical methods and what not, let me tell you that we are all desperate enough to try anything at this point and if anything does become a problem, I vow, me and Rose both vow that we will do our best to smooth the way for your convenience as much as possible." They are both nodding at me amiably, like such a vow will undo everything.

Well, I will just have to take a chance at convincing then. Say more than two words and no insulting any Weasleys no matter how rude they are. Do not tear Ginny Weasley's throat out.

"It is not a question of what and how but who and I think you should know…."

"Oh look there is Dad, I will get this cleared up right now Ustad!"

I don't need to look. I know he is just coming in. Every part of me and my being is acutely focused all of a sudden.

Control control control control control control….

"Dad! Over here!" Albus Potter is waving to someone behind me.

The scent of him. Oh dear god in heaven! So beautiful! So so so beautiful! If I could just… Just once…

I clench my fists as hard as I can, digging my nails in my palms grounding myself on the ground that is ready to be parted from my feet and fly.

Don't lose it! Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

"Dad! Ustad Beyazlamak is here. Ustad, this is my dad Harry Potter. The famous Savior of our wizarding world, bane of dark wizards, etcetera, etcetera…

"Hello.." the voice I hear.

Like a ringing bell in my body, soul, mind.

DON'T YOU DARE LOSE IT!

I turn around miraculously without stumbling.

Readying myself for everything and nothing.

From a box in the face to a swift Avada kedavra.

He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

So beautiful, perfect. Oh God! Oh dear God! Finish me now.

"Potter." The word leaves my mouth curtly.

The curios and polite smile that was playing on his lips vanishes as soon as recognition settles in his eyes.

There is a pause of a heartbeat where he blinks his green green green eyes as if not sure of what he is seeing.

Finally the jaw clenches. Dear Unmerciful God! Rotten Luck!

"Malfoy."

* * *

TBC


	4. Zero Angle, I dangle

_**Author's Note: **Due to a lot of requests on the last chapter, I had to write this chapter with Harry's POV. I would still be writing Draco's POV of these exact events but for now, for your reading pleasure is Harry's POV of the meeting. I am stumped with the good response this story is getting. I guess it does get better with time and I am hoping that you will keep being generous with your comments, favors and follows. They mean a lot to me.__I have a full-time job which is sort of bearing down on me these days and I have to write so many official letters and press-releases, every single day that by the time I have time to myself I just want to curl up and read a good book or fanfic myself to keep me on the ground. So sorry for delays, I do try my best, but sometimes its just not working at an optimum level and I end up hating what I write and it is a matter of pride for me to present you something that is below par my own writing quality. Not that I have any allusions that I am good writer, but I would never treat you to worse than I already am. I have no time to make many fandom friends with whom I can do snowballing of ideas so this is all me. I can't tell anyone any of my real-life friends that I moonlight as a fanfic writer and that too of Slash because no one miles around me is interested in that sort of thing, I am pretty much an anomaly here. So I am pretty lonely in the writing fanfic world so all I have is your comments and reviews. So please be generous with them. _

**_Thanks to the wonderful Piglett, Meliyah, BabyKangaroo and NighShadeHetalia(so glad to hear from you again after ages). _**

* * *

_**Chapter 4 . Zero Angle, I dangle, by fingertips, from the Ferris wheel of Life.**_

_(Dec, 22nd 2020)_

It is freeze-raining again, in words of Lily.

How I hate this weather.

I glare at the auror that is loitering just beside the apparition point. And that is all he is doing. He does not notice me until I have reached close enough to give him a nice box on his handle like ears.

He is an easy target for my frustration. After the lunch break I have just had.

Ginny had been… Ginny.

Always nipping at me for being easy with Lily and Albus.

And now just Albus.

I do not understand how a mother could give up on her child like Ginny has on Lily. It doesn't make sense at all.

"_Why won't you let her be in peace? What use is all of it? What could this new shaman maniac do that the Healers at Mungo's couldn't? Why are you such a push-over with Albus? Will you at least fucking react to me when I am throwing a tantrum you bastard!"_

It ended how it always ends. With me walking out. That is the only way it could ever end, I should have known. Is it wrong that I feel that her shouting and anger is fair? Is it wrong that it never angers me? The only think I can get angry about with her is when she accuses me of having favorites among my children. It was always her way, never mine. Yet I stand accused for one thing I never do.

I purse my lips and say nothing to the lazy Auror. He is here to report to me before going back to his post in Soho.

I listen and send him back to his post with new instructions. The louts who are breaking in people's houses and destroying properties in broad daylight through a petrol bomb like potion will soon be foiled. That is if the Auror does his job. I am only involved on personal request from Percy, because one of the houses that were broken in, belonged to the muggle Italian Ambassador and the orders had come directly from the Muggle Prime Minister.

Tedious, tedious!

Victoria helps. Always helps. With the tea and the music and then leaving me alone to brood. It seems I have gotten to the point where hope frustrates me even more than helplessness. And for some reason, I find myself hoping.

The man might have seemed an imbecile at first. But when I later reviewed the conversation. In bed. I realized exactly what he had done.

He had set grounding. He had established himself in control. He had established the fact fully that he was only doing this because we requested it so and that he was the only one who would be calling the shots. He would do his work but won't stand interference from us. It was a very subtle psychological trick. And then he had refused my offer to provide him with means of transport, establishing his freedom of choice to come and go as he pleases and should we displease him or whatever is the deal-breaker for him, he would leave on his own terms.

It is a good sign. I like that in a person. If you are good at what you do and are confident about it, never cow in front of anyone. Do everything on your own terms.

I am restless. An uneasy tug inside me is the only thing I can think about. I am anxious and angry too, a little bit still.

There is nothing I can pin-point, or fix myself at, so, I start pacing.

Pacing helps, pacing makes me feel like I am moving, going somewhere. Pacing feels like it is bringing me closer. Closer to whatever it is that I supposed to be getting closer to.

"Dear Harry…" Oh dear it is never good when she addresses me that way. It means that she disapproves of something I have recently done or am currently doing.

I turn to look at her.

"It's almost Four, You have a private appointment at Five in 's. Do you remember?"

Ah! It is better than pacing the office. The idea alone calms me down. Moving in the right direction it is.

"Yes! I remember! In fact…" I summon my robe and cloak and notice Victoria's lip purse some more.

"…I am going to go right now as there is nothing to do here…"

"At least fix your hair dear…" she sighs resigning.

I grin at her sheepishly.

"Don't you know? Messy is the new sexy?"

"You are going to see your daughter's healer dear, not a suitor." A little smile plays on her lips as she makes her way to button up my vest, which I only wear for formal meetings, as I strap in my wand holster on my thigh. Just because it looks more dangerous and menacing. As I move to shrug into my robe she snatches it from my hand.

"No, not this one. It has got rain stains! Honestly Harry I don't know why you don't use an impervious charm when you are out in the rain."

If there is anything such as rain stains, I wouldn't know as they are apparently invisible to me and only visible to female –motherly eyes.

She moves to the Wizard space adjacent to my office and brings out another robe, I raise my eyes to see that it is the Midnight Blue Steep cut one with the tastefully dulled silver buttons. I feel even more sheepish, I know how she hates to summon clothes. _"Ruins the ironing Harry!"_

I only wear this robe when I am meeting foreign delegations, when I have to look the part and face of the new MLE, the fit auror and savior of the wizarding world. It is practically more fitted to my structure than my own skin and brings out the menace. Showing off the muscles I have acquired over the years. Ron had definitely gone for the portly, but as it is, it is impossible for me to get fat.. Or grow a white hair. Where poor eye-sight has always been the bane of Potters, the perfect metabolism and slow ageing is a wonderful compensation. Had my age not been such a huge news, always. I can easily pass as a thirty-year old.

I imagine that this robe costs a lot but I had never had to pay for robes like these, they came every season and plentiful from a French designer Wizard, who felt like he owed it to me for ridding him of his competitor who had kidnapped his three children demanding to sign over his business as ransom.

At least Victoria has not brought out the weird dark purple/?Maroon one. The one she keeps insisting is 'Plum'. That one is just obscene. Makes me look nothing like head-auror and father of three that I am and am supposed to look like. I know it irks Albus when we are shopping muggle and people mistake me to be his brother rather than his father.

"First impression is the last impression Harry. Albus told me that the healer worked you up last night, now it is time to show him that though you will let him work peacefully, he should not expect to just troll all over you. He is a monk, dressing is the only place you can have advantage over him. He would probably be in a frock."

"A frock?" I can't even imagine what that would look like.

"Not really… but you never know with these Monk, mystic types." She smiles in that weird wistful way once the buttons are done up.

"You do know that you are ruining my son with giving him a taste for gossiping though don't you?"

I slip into my cloak and feel the shiver of an impervious leaving her wand. If it was anyone else, they would have found themselves frozen on the ground by now even before the spell reached me.

" You are Harry Potter, you can hardly blame us when the rest of wizarding world is doing it without any shame…" she smiles at me coyly.

"I hope you have a better weekend." She says clasping a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. I hope so too. Oh how I would give anything for that hope.

In the elevator I bump into Percy.

"I was hoping to catch you. Wanted to send a memo but then I thought..." he pauses for a moment while I wait, hoping he is not going to delay me.

"Audrey and I wanted to come see Lily whenever it could be convenient. Arthur wanted to do a full Christmas at the hospital and he has been at Audrey about it, it is becoming a week long sulk, so if he asks you when he comes to visit, could you just…"

"I'll handle it Percy, don't worry about it. I try to keep his time at the hospital minimal as it is. I know how close he is Lily and Molly also told me about the sleep-crying. So don't worry about it.

"He will only take your word for it Harry, you know how he idolizes you." And I notice for the first time how upset even Percy is about this whole situation. How I had not noticed it until now just proves me of my self-indulgence. Lily is just as much Percy's niece as she is Charlie's (who has been coming down every month to see her) George's or Ron's (who never fails to visit every single day.) As it is Lily is closest with Arthur, it was bound to happen with only three days gap between their births, Percy's only child and Lily used to spend most weekends at their home. I still have the letters full of delight both had co-written when both of them had got in Gryffindor. Arthur was the first witness to Lily's illness and the one who is impacted the most too. Lily has a way of hijacking one's life and more often than not it was Arthur's.

Now Arthur looks just as stationary as Lily does. And comes almost daily to the hospital with Molly since he has been back from school for Christmas holidays.

My dear child. My baby. Come back to us. I swallow down the clenching again quickly.

"The new healer will be here today, so I'll definitely owl you about when you can come and we will schedule around it."

"Thanks Harry.. At times like these I hate my position."

Yes, I know he does. Minister of Magic as he is. Youngest Ever. It is the price.

* * *

It takes me less than four minutes to get to . It is hardly Five past four and I am craving a warm cup of tea. The damp weather is my least favorite. I am only hoping that Ginny would take heed of what I said…Only thing I said in answer of her rant, that she should avoid coming to the hospital again today. I need to see this through properly for Albus and Ginny would make it all impossible.

I spot Albus straight away as I walk through the sliding doors, he is standing just by the reception desk which is decked in gaudy Christmas décor with Rose and talking to someone with a glee that is rarely seen on his face these days. I straight away take in the person who Albus is talking to…

First thing I notice is Silver white dazzling Hair. Tied in a neat tight braid that only reaches just under the nape of a slender yet strong neck. Broad but lean and sharp shoulders Snow white silk shirt and A snow grey cardigan and slightly darker neatly tailored trousers that are draped around legs that go on and on and on. A Dark grey-green Dragon-skin bag is slung across one shoulder and before I know I am close enough to actually see the mole on the side of this person's neck just under the hair line. He is tall, taller than me and Albus. And magical. Extremely Magical, though its benign extremely soft textured and nervous for some reason. It feels like a heady pleasant buzz you get after your first taste of butterbeer.

An impulsive flash in my mind goes off, a vision of me closing the distance of the few feet between us and draping myself around him like a second skin.

"Dad! Ustad Beyazlamak is here. Ustad, this is my dad Harry Potter. The famous Savior of our wizarding world, bane of dark wizards, etcetera, etcetera…"

This is Beyazlamak? The monk? He doesn't dress like a monk.

"Hello.." I say just as the man turns around

And Oh my dear God, the eyes.

So light a grey, almost Silver. Almond shaped and fair lashed, straight and delicate nose and high cheekbones. So patrician. Aristocratic and angelic and so so familiar. A firm mouth and a strong pointed chin. So familiar. My mind is gasping to make a connection. It is as if I know this face, as if I have always known it, seen it again and again time after time like in a dream which is so vivid but fades away as soon as you are awake. I know I am staring like an idiot but it is a mystery like none other. This face. I would surely remember if I had seen such a beautiful face so frequently. It is unforgettable. I am sure I haven't forgotten it yet but…

And then those lips open and a single word comes out of it.

"Potter…"

And it is the voice. The voice. The voice that makes the connection, more than the voice the style, the manner, the curtness.

What in the name of heaven and hell is he doing here?

Malfoy! Fucking Malfoy!

He can't be Beyazlamak. Must be fooling, faking, lying…

But why?

Why now?

After all those inquiries to discover his whereabouts after he had vanished off the fucking face of the world.

I had looked for how long?

Yes five years. Five fucking years.

And not a trace of him.

And here he now stands.

Posing as a Monk Healer. FROM FUCKING TURKEY.

No I had not asked anyone in Turkey.

Don't hex him! Don't hex him! Don't hex him. Some part of me repeats.

"Malfoy" I say flatly. It comes out sterner than I expected and for a split second the expression on his face is as if I have just stabbed him before it's clear and blank again.

"Malfoy?" I hear Albus say.

"Yes, that is what I was about to tell you and Miss Weasley…" He finally breaks eye contact with me, his silvery strange eyes switching to my son. I feel bereft for some odd reason. He is… so beautiful. Fuck sensibility, Malfoy looks beautiful. Awe-inspiring, magnetizing, stone-hard and cold, beautiful. I feel as if my breath has been knocked out of me. He has not aged, but grown. He does not look the age he actually is. He has that vulnerability to him, that aloofness. Though there is also a faded weathered feel to him, as if despite his pristine look he has seen a lot. Suffered a lot. My break of thought is broken with Albus' increased in incredulity and volume voice.

"…That you are Malfoy? The Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy?" it is Rose this time. I look at both the children. Who both wear a strange mix of expression on their faces. Almost identical in their confusions.

This won't do. This won't do at all.

A million things are running through my head. I take a deep breath, a method I had taught myself in my beginning days of Auror practice. When I was just so angry all the time just beneath the surface and I had to keep it under wraps, always, lest I spilled it out in front of my wife. I used to be so buzzed and distraught all the time as if I had lost the meaning of life even when I was living a dream finally. Married to the girl of my dreams. Officially part of the Weasley clan, a child on the way and chasing the last remnants of death-eaters. Hunting them down and bringing them to justice. Erasing the last traces of Voldemort. But it was never enough. And my mask and control took a long time to make, but was flawless enough to hide my cracking psyche at most times.

"Would you both excuse us for a moment? I think Malfoy and I need to have a word… In private."

"But….Dad…" Albus starts to protest but quiets down when I shoot him a look everyone notices. He pales a little and shoots an apprehensive look at Malfoy. Who carries such a passive look that on that face that it is almost alarming.

"Come with me…" I say simply. I feel him look up and once I have started walking I can feel him behind me, matching step for step. If he has something nefarious on his mind he sure is not showing it in his body language.

Before I realize, I am stepping out of 's. Where do I take him?

Merlin's bollocks! It is cold!

I turn to look at him and can see him shivering with it as well.

It is almost instinctual how my hand reaches out and clasps around his wrist.

He shudders. Honest to God shudders. And for once I am thankful for my woolen gloves.

When I pull, he comes easily, fluidly. It is eerie.

"You were travelling to England in December and that is what you decided to wear?" I say looking pointedly at the flimsy looking cloak still hanging draped across his satchel, as we reach across the road and next to the apparition booth.

He looks at me for a long moment and I realize that the expressions on that face are no longer giving me any idea of what he is feeling. It has been too long. I don't know his expressions any longer. Not when they are not disgust, hate, mockery, poison.

"It is adequate, were I given a chance to actually put it on before…" He trails off looks away shakes his head a bit and then looks back at me. And his expression is…

I don't know what to call it but it is unsettling.

The best I can do is ignore it as I move aside from one of the doors of the apparition booth and signal him to get in.

He does without question and I follow without an answer and then disapparate to the only place I can think of where the pending conversation or interrogation can take place.

We apparate in a back alley of the building where one of my generic apartment/safe house is situated. It can also easily and most comfortably turn into an interrogation/captivity cell, off the records of course.

He follows me this time without prompting. As we enter the building the security guard sends a salute my way I nod in his direction which is a signal that all is well. If I wave my hand at him, it means that it is trouble. And he would immediately inform the MLE SWAT.

As the escalator door closes I press the button to the seventh floor.

"You are being incredibly cooperative." I say when I notice the tension in him. He is standing rigid and straight a hand clasping and unclasping around the strap of his dragon hide satchel.

Just as we pass the second floor I remember. Stupid stupid stupid. I have to cover my error.

"Oh… and while you are being cooperative, why don't you hand me over your wand?"

His head shoots up to look at me, eyes widened. He has gone paler if it was possible.

"Just so you don't get any ideas…" I add. Why I am try to reassure my ex-arch-nemesis I have no idea. I actually have no idea what I am going to do right now. Interrogate him, yes. But did I have to bring him here, to one of my most secret safe house?

A dangerous thought passes my mind for a split second.

'Has he already cursed me?'

No, that is not possible. But what do I know, what he is capable of and what is possible with him. He did manage to hide from me for twenty years. As arrogant and showy Malfoys were, Draco had slipped off the grid with horrifying ease. Leaving no traces behind to his whereabouts. Manor on a lockdown through blood wards, only selective house-elves allowed in and out of the household.

Thank fully at that very moment the escalator opens.

This time he steps out first without my prompting. Almost as if sprinting out.

And I am hardly out of the lift when he turns around faster than I have ever seen anyone move before and his wand is pressing against my neck. Before mine has even reached my hand.

"Is this the kind of idea you were thinking about Potter?"

His voice is calm, very calm.

I can't help but feel how funny the situation is.

"Why are you smiling?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

I flick my wrist silently summoning his wand.

The one in his hand doesn't budge. But a wand does fly into my hand.

And it is familiar. The surge of magic. The feel of it. The surrender of it.

"Hello again old friend…" I can't help but greet the wand. We have known each other very intimately for several years. Malfoy looks like he is about to be sick staring at the wand in my hand. His wand. The one I had…

"If I had some nefarious designs on your family Potter, this would not be the way I would go about it." His voice is gravelly and he is suddenly all out of breath. The wand withdraws and he takes a step back, then two, until his back is against the wall. He ducks is head down leaning against the wall knuckles white around his clasped greyish wand. I have never seen a wand of that colour.

"Then what is the meaning of this? What is meaning of your being here? Showing up after twenty years?"

"Just what I said. Your son wrote me a letter. Your daughter's life is in peril and I owe you a life debt and its time I paid my dues before closing this chapter forever. It would be easier if you just believed me now, because interrogating me would not do you a whole lot of good." He gives the stretch of the corridor a disdainful look. So he knew my intentions all along.

"It is hardly a surprise Potter, you are as predictable as always, acting before you think, leaping before you look, so arrogant with power you hold over…people."

He looks vulnerable and strangely exhausted all of a sudden his silver eyes are staring at me. it is a blink and miss movement when his free hand twitched and the wand that I had just confiscated from him flies back to him. And just like that we are back to square one. Though he tucks the wand back inside his side pocket and his fingers ease slightly on the other one as well. So now that it is obvious that there is no getting out of this situation and it is I actually who is at disadvantage, I decide to abandon the Gryffindor way and take another approach to unravel the mystery that is this man before me.

"A life-debt? I considered it settled when your mother helped me in the dark forest Malfoy…" he interrupts me immediately.

"Not for saving me from fiendFyre Potter! I owe you my life for testifying in my favor in front of the Wizengamot. They would have given me the kiss if it wasn't for you. So I owe you for that. I know you won't believe me but I would have come to cure your daughter even if I did not have a life-debt hanging on my head. It is what I do. I have taken an oath. But because you are too frigid to believing in my goodwill, I give you a proper, logical reason for me being here, apart from the goodness of my heart."

In my heart of heart, I know he is telling the truth. But what do I really know about him? And to think that this is the truth is almost as astonishing as it is real.

"So you are saying that you really are Beyazlamak? And are here to try and cure Lily?"

"Yes. That is exactly what I am saying. Beyazlamak is not a name, it is a title. But it is more my name than Draco Malfoy ever was so I would appreciate it if you would call me Beyazlamak."

In the end, the shrewd Auror mind wins over the desperate father which is a surprise even to me. It could be that this all is a deception. It could be that he has some larger scheme. Some terrible plan. I am not only a father am I? I also have a civil and professional responsibility and for all I know he might be an imposter. A double bluff. An imposter pretending to be Malfoy pretending to be the monk healer.

Merlin, and he has involved my son.

"Tell me something only Draco Malfoy would know."

A pale perfect naturally arched eyebrow goes up and a smirk starts appearing on that mouth for the first time, and that alone is an answer enough that this is the real Draco Malfoy. Right now I must be looking like the most incompetent Auror in the history of Aurors.

Forgetting to confiscate his wand. Bringing him to a top-secret safe house, and only now asking him to prove his identity. What is wrong with me? It is as if my mind has gone to sleep and I am working on auto-pilot. Must be the shock.

"Though, due to my father I always had to support Tutshell Tornadoes, I was genuinely always a fan of Falmouth Falcons, but couldn't express it because they happened to be a favorite of yours as well."

I wonder for a second why of all the things he could have chosen to prove his identity, it was this. More stupidity! What is wrong with me? Has his beauty rendered me am idiot? I have seen much more and have been effected so much less.

I realize that there are not many things that only Draco Malfoy would know and I would know too.

Except perhaps things that I came to know about him when I was following him in the sixth year, suspecting him to be a death-eater, which turned out to be the truth.

Or about that night on top of the astrology tower when Dumbledore died.

A flash of memory lights up my mind and I can almost see Hermione stalking up to Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, wand drawn, fury radiating from her. Malfoy whimpering in desperation and fear and then moments later after Ron and I had stopped her from doing something she would regret later, the satisfying crunch of a punch straight in the pointy face. Malfoy doubling over face and hands covered in gushing blood and scrambling for the end of his white uniform shirt under which he was wearing..

A silver blue shirt…

"Ah! I knew it! I knew that was a Falcon shirt that I saw when you tried to stop your nose bleeding when…."

"Granger punched me in the face… yes… Because of that horrible beast. I mean did I not get hurt enough because of that animal already? It was after me from the beginning."

Yes. This is Draco Malfoy alright if he thinks he was the victim in the whole Buckbeak debacle.

But still, a question is forming in my mind.

"What was the curse you used on me on the Hogwarts express after you petrified me in the beginning of the sixth year?"

Yes, only Draco would know the answer to that. I had not even told Hermione and Ron about that.

This time it is not a smirk, in fact his face is carefully expressionless.

Though his hand twitches slightly.

My grip on my wand grows tighter.

"I did not curse you Potter, I stomped on your face and smashed your nose." He says plainly. Eyes wary.

That he did, and it bloody hurt.

So it is Draco.

I close my eyes. Confusion, desperation, melancholy, nostalgia and just sheer terror fill me up and for a moment I am internally grasping at my floating mind.

How can I trust him? Why do I want to trust him?

I can't. I can't take the risk. I can't put my whole family at risk just because my instinct is telling me I can trust Draco Malfoy, who I could trust when he was seventeen and a weakling, a scared squirell, but this Draco Malfoy is not that Draco Malfoy at all. He is more composed, very strong, and fearless apparently, also with better skills in magic than myself. Benign the magic may seem that oozes from him, but it is no guarantee that it is not a camouflage. The man has stayed out of sight for twenty years and has appeared out of thin air with a flimsy excuse just when I am at my most vulnerable. As a wizard as a man.

"I know what you are thinking… and I knew before coming here that this precisely would be your reaction. Which is why I came up with a solution to our little trust issue before I even came here."

It is infuriating beyond expression how he is reading my mind, how he is using my desperation against me, how he is gloating. How he knows that even after all possible risks I want to give him a chance for some reason. I hate it that he has reduced me back into a petty teenager who would never back down from an insult and throw back ever worse.

"I don't think anything you can say or do will make me trust you Malfoy. Your father never cared for another's life, and you were always petty enough to hit when one is helpless, petrified. I have never known you to play fair, so nothing you can offer me, can make me trust you…"

It is as if he is changing sizes and colours in front of my very eyes without it being visible and somehow it seems that my words have affected him. Drastically.

The conversation is over. The interrogation is not happening. And though something in me wants to stay and speak to him some more, I know it is better that we part ways now. I have a son to explain things to and to bear angry lashes from and I have a daughter to look down at in a hospital bed and know that when it came to risk and eventuality, I chose safe.

I press the button for the lift and it opens immediately. The doors have hardly slid open fully when I hear him say from behind.

"What if I say that there is something that I can offer you in order to make you trust me?"

He can't. The faded mark on his arm will never let me trust him. Even if I had once allowed his life to be spared despite the mark. If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that everyone with that mark is fully capable of carrying the biggest grudge against me for all eternity.

"What can it possibly be?" I find myself asking without intending to. The door pings and waits opened for me to step inside and walk away from this worse kind of temptation against desperation of keeping my family and home and life together. There is a pause. A pause long enough for the door to ping again and slide to close again. When his voice come again it is a little warped in the sound of sliding steel doors of the lift, but the words are unmistakable.

"What if I offer you an unbreakable vow?"

The words have an echo to them that I can feel down in my soul. My intuition lightens up.

An unbreakable vow.

It is not an offer any wizard makes easily. It is the last resort. It is a dangerous and risky undertaking. One mis-step and the penalty is death. It is dark and forbidden. Not to mention illegal.

But there is nothing less than this that I could settle for.

I turn around to look at him. To see any trace of falsehood on that face.

The paleness and graveness of his face tells me the whole truth. In the end, I am a father and fathers will do anything for their children.

* * *

_**Reviews comments? Pretty Please? They are not just a number to me. They are little and huge motivators, so please don't be shy.**_


	5. We have lost even this twilight

_**Author's Note:** I am sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Due to the changing weather I have been suffering from a really bad throat infection, which got worse over the weekend when I was supposed to update. Sorry for the delay. Here it is. I must warn you, that it is very emotional and a little slow, but things needed to be said and they were said and now that it is out of the way, we can move on. _

_The wonderful reviews I am getting all over the place are just... WONDERFUL! I am so flattered guys! Seriously! Thank you so so much! I read and re-read them again and again and feel like a million dinars..lol.. All because of you! _

_**Thanks again RubySilkenSun, JoannaSnape, Piglett, Meliyah, Mistral1968 and Serenaya for your wonderful reviews! Keep them coming!**_

* * *

_**Chapter 5. We have lost even this twilight...**_

_...No one saw us this evening hand in hand_  
_while the blue night dropped on the world._

_(Pablo Neruda)_

In retrospect.

Ah what a luxury it would be if after this very encounter I will be able to do any retrospection at all.

No, like everything else with Harry Potter, the jumper, the leaper, the pusher, the seeker…

There is no time for retrospection. He is a flood, a tsunami that will rush you away from any sane thinking before you jump in and make the stupidest decision of your life.

Or the most brilliant one. It remains to be seen.

It is no wonder why my Veela chose Harry Potter as my mate.

There is seriously nothing that can match this wild, broken creature that takes command like he was born to do the very thing.

The hero-worship is only fair. Now, I think.

Because a lesser man could not do things that Harry Potter did.

From sacrifice to sacrilege.

He owns it all.

And it is never more apparent to me than at this very moment. Why he owns me, without even having a clue about it.

I never stood a chance.

Even after everything, and especially the fate he unknowingly bind me to, I have still strived to be a creature worthy of him. In courage and in deeds. Even when there was no chance that he will even know or see what I have accomplished for him and only him. The relentless work. The washing out of all old and dangerous beliefs. The purity and celibacy. Tolerance, benevolence, devotion and modesty. All of it for him.

At this moment he stands looking at me like I am a most fascinating and strange creature that has just crawled out of a book he read long time ago, my wrist is wrapped in his grip.

Strong, scorching and maddening.

I never even imagined that this moment would come. This is the answer to all my unuttered prayers.

I can only thank Merlin for the woolen gloves his hand is swaddled in, or heaven knows what would be the scenario right now.

And it is not just the primal veela that is in danger of slipping out of control.

It is also me.

It was not just the veela that suffered all this time.

I did too.

Longing for touch, love, friendship, familiarity.

Counting down days.

In this moment, this very moment, it all becomes the clearest. Why I have chosen this path, because when you are faced with as big a situation? Task? Tragedy? as mine, you lose sight of it because of its size, there is only so much a small human mind can perceive at a time. So it is good to have it all simplified in front of you, for you to see the whole picture.

Due to the rejection, I am bound to waste away and die.

I have only survived this long because of the magic I have used and mastered all these years.

But like a deadly virus, my veela magic and instinct forms immunity to all the repression.

If I do not choose this path, this particular path, things would still deteriorate slowly but surely.

The poison of rejection and longing has been eating away at my soul for twenty years.

But that is not all it eats away at.

A couple of heats more and I will start losing my coherency, my sanity. Until I am nothing but a writhing mess of pain and waste. No longer able to keep care of myself. Nothing but a source of continuous torture to those who care for me.

Before I eventually waste away due to destabilized and desolate magical core and starvation.

It is a horrible prospect and a painful death. One you would not even wish on your worst enemies.

My coming to London will change things.

This path that I have chosen will speed up the process.

Had I not come here and continued the way I was going, I would have still died over a period of 5-7 years. This way, I can cut short the agony and go quicker even if not necessarily cleaner.

I am sure no one would begrudge me.

I could not choose my life, but they cannot begrudge me the choice of my death.

And why would I die? Why would the process be sped up?

Withdrawal. After close proximity of my one true mate for so many days so close to the heat, and then returning home the heat will be more severe. The withdrawal will be more caustic; it will be much faster and do more damage.

I might still be looking at a few months.

But that is better than a few years.

How I will rip myself away and into withdrawal when even with all suppression I can barely breathe in his proximity?

That is a question for another time and retrospection.

A part of me is scolding myself that I should not have just followed him out like this, what is he about to do to me? Torture? Take me to the authorities?

The other part of me wishes he would. Wishes he would torture me.. at least he would be touching me. Paying attention to me, concentrated on me, only me. Marking this flesh that has gone unclaimed for so so long.

I hate this part of me with a vengeance.

There is a third part of me that is still wallowing in self-pity and it is a shame that that is the part that is also paying attention at the time.

"You were travelling to England in December and that is what you decided to wear?"

The question registers a few moments later, and I realize that it is extremely cold.

'_So now you care about me being cold? When you did not even wait for me to put my cloak on? So scared you were that I would touch your children somehow and contaminate them with my death-eater filth? Because that is what I am, am I not? Death-eater scum? No matter what I do and how much I have changed that is what I will remain. And you and your people accused my kin of bigotry? '_

Then there is the fourth part the one that resents this man in front of me with a passion. The one that never listens to any kind of explanation or justification or even facts, the one that feels the abandonment most acutely and thrives on it and the one that will not know what to do if ever all my wishes came to fruition... Not that they ever will.

I realize that my head is filling up with too many voices.

His eyes, green green eyes are trained on my… cloak. A little… worried? How do I keep myself safe from these laser beam eyes. Why does he not wear those miserable glasses anymore?

No, don't fall into that trap.

Indifference is the best policy…

"It is adequate, were I given a chance to actually put it on before…"

There is an old flash in his eyes. Is it hatred? It is very muted to be hatred, but then again, everything about him is muted, weak… a little worn out.

He guides me into an apparition booth and then steps inside it. Thankfully the space is not too narrow, I am already on edge enough as it is.

I am glad he doesn't linger, clearly his decision is made. Whatever is about to happen to me at his hands is a risk I took in coming here, though that is not what I am really worried about, pain is one thing I am sure I can endure. No, at this point, I think it would be the opposite that will do me most harm.

I hardly keep track of where he has taken me. It is true, that London is not at all what it used to be when I was young. Especially with all of it on an apparition and disapparition lock down. An impossible feat and accomplished by a young muggle-born graduate straight out of Hogwarts almost a decade ago. The rumor was that it was somehow done via the microwaves that muggle mobile phones use to communicate. Though it was dismissed quickly. The wizarding world had been in an uproar in the beginning. But eventually the fall in crime-rate was impressive enough to make people stop mumbling about the inconvenience. The method had trickled down to the rest of Europe and eventually to America as well with its burgeoning wizarding colonies.

He apparates us to a back alley and I expect some violence, but it does not come. He simply guides me out of it and leads me to the main entrance of what looks like a very generic though tolerable apartment complex.

The man on the reception sends a playful yet cautious salute towards my companion who returns it nonchalantly with a nod. The man is not a wizard, but neither a muggle, a squib then, and in awe of Boy-wonder. It is clear enough in the way his eyes follow his hero, and fodder for his late night fantasies.

And he has all the reasons to. This man that I am following to god knows where might be the most popular wizard to ever grace Britain after perhaps Merlin himself. A hero to the last drop of his blood and a formidable wizard, which I can easily tell by the sheer power he exudes unaware of it with every breath he takes. He is perhaps the most powerful wizard in Britain and as many people believe in the world.

Or he was, until today.

Because just like he does not know how powerful he himself is.

He does not have the slightest idea that I just might be even more powerful than him.

In fact I am this powerful because of him alone. I am so powerful that it is killing me slowly. There is only so much magic one's body can control, without getting its own sustenance.

So if he has brought me here to incarcerate me, interrogate me, torture me.

He has another thing coming.

I will not be side-tracked from my mission.

I will not let him hijack my life and my death any more than he has already done. Intentionally or unintentionally.

There is a child's life at stake, his child's. And I will not let petty grudges hold me back. Not mine, not his, not anyone else's

"You are being incredibly cooperative."

His tone is wry, but I am all ready and coiled like a snake, ready for the strike if it comes to that. I know full well that I can never harm him physically, but I can surely hold him down. It takes some effort, but I do not rise to the bait.

"Oh… and while you are being cooperative, why don't you hand me over your wand?"

No.

Just no.

It is not possible.

I look up at him, hoping, praying…

Praying that he does not know.

Hoping and praying that he did not know the implication of taking my wand all those years ago.

Not then, and not now. Because, I would never be able to reconcile myself with the fact that the rejection was inflicted upon me intentionally. That I was rejected intentionally and knowingly twenty years ago.

A flash of a second and I do not know what he sees in my face but a flash of worry passes on his.

"Just so you don't get any ideas…" he says, brows furrowed in controlled concern.

It grounds me.

I root deep down inside myself in that second and find that I do not feel compelled to give him my wand. No, it was just a suggestion. Not an order.

I can almost faint with relief. He does not know the power he yields on me. He is still innocent in this whole mess.

The lift decides to open at that moment and I am only too happy to step out swiftly, keeping in mind the decision I had come to earlier. I did not come this far to get side-tracked.

Reassuring myself and the Veela inside me that I am doing this only for demonstration purposes and in no way to harm him, I turn around as fast as I can as my wand flies to my hand and in a blink of an eye it is pressed against his neck.

"Is this the kind of idea you were thinking about Potter?"

He looks startled for a moment, genuinely startled, which then turns into mirth. He is smiling now and I for the life of me cannot figure out why. Does he know of my impotence when it comes to harming him? Does he know of my weakness? Is he a thrill junkie? Does he like being in danger? Pain?

"Why are you smiling?" I can't help but ask, and that is all it takes. My distraction.

He flicks his wrist and I feel my faithful olive wand hum in response, but it doesn't budge, thank goodness that I am in control enough. The other wand on my person though is another story all together.

It flies into his hand like that is the most familiar thing for it to do.

I now remember once again with full clarity why I had to get a new one made.

I am seeing it happening. Why that wand was never mine again. Like its previous owner, it had surrendered to its abductor. Traitor.

What is peculiar is the expression on Potter's face the moment the wand is in his hands again.

Tenderness.

"Hello again old friend…" he whispers to it like you would an old friend that was always a little more than a friend.

It is obscene, and cruel and possibly the most beautiful thing I have seen. The way his fingers are touching its groves and stains. The way the wand is humming in his fingers.

I can't deal with it. The idea that he can bestow such tenderness on something that became the reason for my doom and at the same time my eternal connection to him. I don't know if I should hate it or adore it.

All I know is I can't deal with it at this very moment.

And while he is standing there and not attacking me and might listen to reason, I take my chance.

"If I had some nefarious designs on your family Potter, this would not be the way I would go about it." I start, but my voice is not with me as much as I would like it to be.

Seeing that there is no way else to do it, I lower my wand turn a little and lean against the wall. Feeling more tired than I could ever imagine being, though I am not actually. It is almost not worth the trouble.

""Then what is the meaning of this? What is meaning of your being here? Showing up after twenty years?"

The mistrust shows on his face.

Time to start spinning.

In the end, the unbreakable vow is the only thing that holds any weight with him.

"You know, I can arrest you right now, for even speaking of doing it…" his eyes are shining though. He will agree and fall just right with my plans with just a little more persuasion.

"I know that you can, but I also know that you won't Potter. I have no fear in making it, because I truly intend to treat your daughter to the best of my abilities, which are considerable, as your son will assure you. And though in general I would take it as an insult to my abilities and character, I will spare you just this once due to our…history."

He snorts sarcasm. As the lift door closes

"Oh yes, the history where you were a baby death eater and son and grandson of a death eater with a grudge against me the size of the Great Wall of China from the moment we first met. Forgive me if I don't just hand over the safety of my child, or any child into your hands, on a platter."

The words are cruel. But we have said much worse to each other. Were it not for my peculiar disposition, I would not feel them cut me to the quick the way they do. But being passive will not help in this situation. I need my full concentration to accomplish my task and I need to address this issue before it compromises my ability.

"Do you know, calling me a death-eater is not much different than when I called you a filthy half-blood, and Hermione Granger a Mudblood? It is just as wrong because just like you were born into your legacy, I was born into mine, but I worked years in penance of something I was born into and forced into. I turned my head around. I have cured as many muggles as I have magical folks. From Leukemia to Asthma, from Dragon pox to Daenaryen syndrome, so think really hard about that and what you will be teaching your children before you call me a death-eater in front of them. Think how it does not make you a hair's breadth better now than I was at my worse."

He is staring at me. I can see it reflected on the inside of the lift door. Before the air shifts and he is able to counter that with a reply, the lift slides open.

This time I stop him pointedly just before stepping out of the entrance of the building and shrug myself into my cloak.

"What is that thing even made of?" he asks as he steps out behind me.

I smirk at his tone. He sounds testy, a little whiny. Did I hit the spot with my anti-bigotry speech? A look at his petulant frown tells me that I have.

I want to kiss it all away.

I better not.

"It's a gift actually. A magical travelling cloak, woven by the Mountain elves out of Fawnish sheep's fur."

"Really? I thought fawnish sheep were extinct." In a most inappropriate gesture he is rubbing the material on my sleeve between his fingers, so very close to my pulse and looking really closely at it, bringing him inappropriately closer to me in proximity.

His hair smells of citrus and sandalwood.

It is the most captivating smell that I have ever inhaled in my life.

It is the smell of paradise and belonging.

Of home.

Of…

Tenderness washes over me. He is in such despair. It is in his scent. He is so tired, exhausted, so worried. He is hiding it all. The pain of seeing his most beloved child in such a state. I smell tears, all of them, for they all leave a trace behind.

If only I could take it all away. If only I could offer him comfort the way only I can. If only I could spread my wings and enfold him in them and sing away all this melancholy. A song only for him.

If only.

"It is extraordinary…" he says stepping back from me bringing me out of my reverie.

I swallow down the strained muscles of my throat that I am sure will not be able to utter a word but coo and give away everything. Where would I be then?

"A gift from mountain elves though?"

"Yes, I cured their head of tribe from magic mushroom poisoning when their own healers failed."

"hmmm… that is something I guess." He says as he turns and makes his way to the back alley again and castes a hasty tempus.

It is hard to believe that we have been able to come to an agreement in less than half of an hour.

Taking my wrist again, which is unnecessary at this point, but I don't object, we disapparate back to the hospital.

Just as we both step out of the apparition booth, he stops me with a hand on my arm.

"You will not tell anyone, especially Albus, about the thing we just agreed upon."

I want to ask why, but I don't and simply nod in agreement.

"It is because he has full faith in you for some reason, and I don't want him to think that I do not trust his judgment, but I still need this reassurance from you and so it shall remain between you, me and Hermione."

"Hermione?" No, this was the one thing I would only share with him by my own will. Am I to make the vow with Granger? Because Harry Potter can't….

"Yes, Hermione, I want her to be a witness and bonder of the vow between us."

So it is going to be between us.

Finally, something between us witnessed, held important, willingly by both parties, even if it has consequence of death attached to it. It is a beautiful thing.

* * *

"I know this might not be appropriate at the moment, but I must tell you, that I am secretly one of your biggest fans."

I look up at the boy, standing with a demure stance but somewhat excited and anxious at the same time.

Not totally gay, bisexual. I just use the eye brow arch that flusters all Potters for some reason into answering and explaining without delay. It is proving to be more useful than words ever were. As I expected he scrambles into answering, while I look down to the more detailed charts of my patient. Making mental notes. This is the very kind of multi-tasking I am used to because of Aali, who thinks me looking through records is a free pass for him to babble on and on and on non-stop and later be cross with me if I missed something. Usually plebian things, but often important intellectual ideas and aspirations.

"Uh… I stumbled upon your 7th year potions notebook in the common room, the annotations alone got me an O in my final coursework potions project. I worked on the extraction methods of the cultivated Romona-bloodpods and their uses out of the general blood cleansing arena. Your notes were… inspiring."

Romona-bloodpods, I remember my fascination with the nasty buggers clearly. I usually kept them in my trunk to keep Crabbe and Goyle out of it.

Wait a minute.

Common room? What were my books and notebooks doing in the Gryffindor common room?

He did say common room.

"You found them in the common room?" I ask still looking at the chart.

"Yes, in the… secret compartment behind the cobra head…"

Now I do look up at him. To see him smiling.

"Yes, I am a Slytherin too."

And out of the many bizarre things in life that I have heard.

That has to be the most bizarre! Harry Potter's son in Slytherin?

" And how did that work out for you?" I ask him without meaning to.

"Pretty good actually. I graduated head boy. Quidditch Captain and cup winner, And with the House-cup to Slytherin too. Three consecutive years."

"Good, that is impressive… A seeker then? Like your father I suppose…?"

"Oh no! Keeper… That one is the seeker. Was going to really follow in Dad's footsteps and be one of the youngest seekers , but she…" He bites his cheek and looks away from his sister. I look down at the girl. Long dark red curls that must have shined like embers when she was healthy and vital. Skin is fair and slightly freckled though it is more pallid and brittle now. Though her structure right now is gaunt I can tell that she has the perfect seeker physique, slender but swift and strong. She is a pretty girl. A pretty girl who would one day turn the heads of boy wizards everywhere.

I just have to make sure that her life does get to that stage.

I take a deep breath, put the clip board just by her feet covered in that awful light green sheet, hospital issue. The atmosphere itself is too brooding, too melancholy and Lily Potter needs positive energy around her, not residual energy of deaths and decays and pain and sadness surrounding her. A remain of those who stayed in this very room before her.

" …" I quickly glance at the glass door, out of which I can see Granger and Potter standing close and in deep conversation. By the looks of it, Granger is disapproving. Of course she is. I was the cruelest to her.

"… I think you had the right idea. This environment is not doing any good to her, and I do work with energies, if I were to take over her treatment, the first step that I would take without delay would be to move her out of here, to some place where she has always been most content and at ease."

"I had a feeling about that Ustad. I have studied a few of your cases and I know a little about energies, I already have had arrangements made in the town house, here in London. There is a Huge ladies saloon on the third floor, which was her favorite room in the house, she never really liked it all that much at Godric's Hollow…"

He pauses for a few seconds and I know there is something else he wants to say. I encourage it. If I can form a good relationship with this one, it will give me a better chance at working.

"…Ustad Beyazlamak, I wanted to apologize for this…." here he shoots a glance at the glass door too where now Potter is looking away while Granger rubs his arm in a comforting way. Yielding.

"Whatever it is, I am sorry that…some people are unable to look past old prejudices and realize what a truly great healer you are, whatever may your past be… all that should matter is what and who you are now…"

"That is easier said than done Mr. Potter. It may be easy for you to look past the prejudices because you have not witnessed the true darkness of discrimination and war that prejudice brings. Don't be too quick to judge people who have suffered it."

"That statement only increases my respect for your … That you would defend…"

At that moment the door slides open and two parts of the Golden trio step inside.

Potter looks weary and Granger wary.

Correction : She is Weasley now. Mrs. Weasley.

"How are you Draco? It has been a long time." She says after a few moments of tense silence.

Draco.

It seems such an alien word now.

Correction : I will call her Granger.

"Let us not waste time in pleasantries Granger, I need to know if you have reached a decision."

Her eyes widen for a moment and then finally after a few blinks her expression eases. She looks at Potter furtively.

"You do know that it is Weasley now don't you?" she says.

"Do I look like I care?" I say with all the Malfoy arrogance I can conjure.

An honest to god smile splashes on her face.

"No, you don't… and that is good… We have come to decision and we have agreed that you should be given a chance." I can tell that he is signaling to me that we are doing the unbreakable vow. I nod at him and turn to Potter junior.

"Please make arrangements for her to be transported to the place you were just now talking about. Make sure that she gets the largest space which gets a lot of natural light, solarium perhaps?"

The young Potter does not even look at his father for any confirmation and swiftly steps out.

"Why? Why are you moving her?" Granger asks.

I heave a sigh. Feeling the slight weariness of nerves. The Potion is still working but it is now on decline.

"I am an …alternate magical methods healer Granger. I work most with magical and spiritual energies. And for that I need space, not to forget that this place already has a boat load of negative residual energies. They are too stifling and will interfere with my work. I need room for security, runes work and precautions and I will also need easy access to a Potions brewing lab."

"Albus has one at the town house. I don't think he would mind sharing it seeing that you have already hired him as your minion."

"I don't think it is wise to antagonize Draco, Harry." Says little Granger, always the sound of reason and too much sound in general.

"I am not antagonizing Hermione…I'm just..."

"Patronizing?" I cut in. "I couldn't care less Granger, it does not matter to me what Potter thinks. What matters to me is that I get what I want so that I can do my optimum best with the task at hand."

"Task at hand? Is that all, my daughter and her life is to you? A task? Is that how your treatment works? Objectifying your patients? You unfeeling Bastard!"

"That is hardly fair Harry!" Granger tries to come to my defense again.

"Yes, that is exactly what this is to me, a task, a mission, for accomplishment of which - if you have not forgotten - I have forfeited my life. Forgive me if I do not humanize her too much like you have done and compromise my abilities as a healer like you have done with your Auror skills."

There is pin-drop silence in the room for a few seconds. While his widened eyes are fixed on me and Granger is shaking her head slightly as if involuntarily and I am slowly coming to the horrible realization that I may have just pushed him over the edge and that he might ask me to leave with the very next words that come out of his mouth.

But what actually comes out is..

"Alright…" He turns away and sits on one of the three chairs situated just near the door, hunched and curled in. Tiredness oozes out of him in waves. For a moment I can imagine holding him in comfort, curled around him, soothing him. I rip my mind off of that tragic yet glorious image.

"That is just right… I have… Now I know that this might just work… I realize… that you are not here to be nice and for my comfort… I get that… I envy you your detachment, just…"

"Granger… I think we should do the Vow, right now, If only because it will reassure Potter and avoid any kind of second guessing of my methods or motives once my work is in progress."

Granger looks down at Potter who does not look anywhere but at the floor in defeat. His profile a little more grey.

"Harry?" she reaches for him with her hand, how easy it looks. How comfortable and familiar as her hand touches his dense black incorrigible hair. Out of all the things that were denied me, this one cuts the deepest. There was never a chance that I could have had this. Not for a moment, not for a second. I turn away from it all, feeling a pain in my chest, it grounds me, this pain, this one familiar thing that has always been my companion over the decades. This pain is my reality, not my surroundings, not the nearness of him, this pain is what I have, and this is why I am here. To be at one with this pain and to be free of it forever. I have had years of self-pitying, now is not that time for it.

I am silently thankful for the Potion. It effects may be waning, but it is still helping me hold my own in his presence and think logically.

I look down at the girl again and imagine what colour her eyes must be? I will get to see soon I know. A most extraordinary green like her father? A striking but common blue of her mother? Perhaps both, a blue green similar to the Lake at Hogwarts? This little girl, a product of love between her parents. I know that even imagining that hurts, but, this is something I could not have given him. This precious gift. This child that has become the link to bring me out of my exile. I don't know when my hand reaches out at cups that slight cheek, shaped so much like her fathers. Her skin feels delicate, soft but a little rigid in my palm. Such a pretty girl. I can tell she had been suffering before she was put in stasis, the dark circles around her eyes and the greyish pallor is indication enough. And now she is even worse. Frozen in time without even the luxury of dreams. A child should always be able to dream. Dreams help through pain. What if she was having a nightmare when they put her stasis? She would be stuck in it all this time. I hate even the thought of that because I know exactly what that feels like. I feel it deep in my heart that I must pull her out of it.

'Just a little longer, little flower.' I pray to her.

"Draco?" I look up to see Granger looking at me with a strange expression. A little worried and a little.. shocked.

"I don't think we should waste any more time. I need to do my own tests as well." I say taking my hand away from the Child's cheek and standing straighter.

"Yes, we are ready now. Harry wants to say the words."

In that moment I realize.

I will have to touch him.

I watch in dread as he undoes the buttons of his Dark blue robe, unraveling his dark grey shirt underneath, that fits him like… No. I should not look. I pry my eyes away and start unbuttoning my own light grey robe, one of many in the same colour with varying shades.

I unclasp my right cuff and roll the sleeve up to my elbow. Looking closely at it, covertly and critically to see if the potion has worn off enough to start showing the… strangeness that my skin would certainly take in his presence. I am still not sure about his touch.

No, don't think about that. I brace myself the best I can and gather control from all little nooks and crannies of my consciousness before I turn around and find him standing there only a foot or two between us. His eyes flitter to my left arm, I haven't rolled up that sleeve. Is he looking for the dark mark? What would his reaction be if I turned my sleeve up and showed him the unmarked skin? No mark can remain on a mature veela permanently except the one made by their one true mate. Everything else fades with time.

I kneel slowly looking straight into his green eyes, he looks baffled…

"What are you doing?"

"Kneeling obviously, as per requirement of the Unbreakable Vow." I say and look toward Granger tp concur with me. But Granger is busy staring at her Magitab. Of course she would have a Magitab. She probably has the whole Hogwarts and British library of magic stored in there. I make a mental note of getting one for Aali from here on my way back. He has been pushing for one for a while now if his wish-list is anything to go by. A few seconds pass before she looks up and finds me kneeling in front of a standing Potter and her brows shoot up.

I realize what we must look like.

But I am a Malfoy, I am never in the wrong, and I don't care about implications and I am too graceful to be so… lewd.

"Harry, he is right, you have to kneel."

Looking a little reluctant he decides to kneel, his auror issue tough pants with patches of dragon skin on the knees stretch with the movement and make me realize that I wouldn't care much about lewdness at all and most probably abandon all grace in a heartbeat to have those strong legs so tantalizing wrapped in toughened corduroy, wrapped around me. Mine, all mine…STOP!

I clear my throat trying to erase the image. Oh Gods of the Orient! Please give me strength.

It is ironic really, that the official Veela bonding ceremony also takes place in the exact same position where the veela and bonded mate kneel in front of the head of Veela order and witnesses and exchange vows.

This is the best I am going to get. The pain of death. Weight of an unbreakable vow, no chance of even a friendly hand shake after. He hates me too much.

Why do you hate me so much? Why do I love you so much when I don't even want to?

Because I love you, and it is not just the veela and the chosen mate.

I put my hand and wrist forward.

'_With this hand I offer my devotion, my fidelity, my love, my body, my soul and my instinct' _

He takes it without hesitation. The temperature of his skin higher than mine, his palms a little moist and warm and scorching and I am falling apart, I am going to disintegrate right in front of his eyes and he won't notice. Would he notice? I will die the moment that hands lets go of mine. How will I survive? Who am I kidding? I won't! I won't survive.

But I hold through. Think of the child. Think of the task, the mission. My life is counterfeit anyway. The pain won't matter for much long, the desire will give way to sheer madness and agony of withdrawal when all is done.

Hold it together!

"According to this, after the bonder says the intention in their own magical language, that the first, that is you Harry, will ask a certain number of vows of the other, which is Draco, with the second accepting those terms. Each time a term is accepted a thin stream of fire will be emitted from the Bonder's wand, weaving around the hands of the pair taking the vows."

"I see, not very complicated then…" he mutters.

I say nothing in response as I am unable to make a sound anyway.

"Yes, dangerously uncomplicated, no wonder Fred got himself spanked… Any way… the catch is, that if any of the vows Draco does not wholly accept the fire stream will not appear… this will be telling of his lack of honesty or simply that a term needs to be negotiated on until it is of satisfaction to the both parties."

"Alright."

"Having explained that, Harry, as your lifelong friend and confidante, I would like you to judge Draco on the gesture alone that he has agreed to take the vow and not actually make the vow. It is barbaric not to forget illegal…"

"Please don't plead and advocate for me Granger I don't want or need it and surely don't appreciate it." It comes out harsher than I intended, and I can clearly see Granger taken aback. She won't take this away from me, I won't allow it. If I want to make an unbreakable vow with Harry Potter, I will. I might regret it later, but right now I don't care when his hand is joined with mine.

I see his Jaw clench and nostrils flair a bit. A dangerous yet controlled look in his eyes.

"Yes Hermione, I don't think Malfoy needs your help, If he can't tell a kindness from weakness then it is his prerogative. Just do the binding, I will take care of the rest."

His grip tightens on my wrist warningly.

"_Hoc votum impleri sub poena mortis…" _she mutters.

The hum of the magic flowing from her thin sprightly wand is very recognizable.

"Will you Draco Malfoy, also known as Ustad Beyazlamak, vow to me, Harry Potter, that you will in no way or mien, plan to or intend to harm my family and friends in any way, including through any kind of proxies? And reveal to me if any such action is already in progress to your knowledge?"

I have to say that the vow is very aptly worded. Something that I would not have expected from the usually tactless Gryffindor. But as always, life is full of too many surprises.

It is easy, the agreement, because my truth is simple.

"I will." I simply say. In a blink of an eye a thin string of fire pours out of the tip of Granger's wand. Twirling and hissing and curved around our joined hands in a most beautiful display of bonding. I feel the slight shift in my own magic as it absorbs the magic of the vow.

The tightness of his face at once eases. Relief is showing clear and his grip become a few points less savage, now just snug and warm. I want to bathe in that warmth. I want to be the reason for his comfort and relief for eternity.

He takes a deep breath and a new kind of determination is now shining in his eyes.

"Will you Draco Malfoy, try to cure my daughter sincerely to the true best of your abilities and knowledge?"

I feel as if someone has kicked the air out of me. As my mind whirls in on itself.

Oh it was too much to expect anyways. That for once in my bloody, sodding fuck-fest of a life, something could go right.

I think it is Karma! Or some joke of god and universe on me? I don't know what I have done to be treated this way…?

How can universe allow me to be condemned to death by my one true mate twice in a life-time without him even knowing it!

How can it be that Harry Potter has to be the one every time to give me my death sentence?

He doesn't even realize it! It is such a normal and easy thing to say.

But put that in an unbreakable vow.

Cure his daughter to the best of my abilities.

If I don't do it to the best of my abilities, I die instantly because of the vow.

If I do cure his daughter to the best of my abilities, I might die anyways.

Because the best of my abilities, when all else fails might just result in my death anyways.

The only difference is, this time he is holding my hand. This time he is asking this of me, not telling me.

You tell me what I am supposed to say to that? The one time he asks this of me, with such sincere plea, with such faith in his eyes. One time, there is no distrust in his eyes, no boiling hatred. Why do I love you? How can I refuse?

Two words.

One option. If it is even an option.

"I will." I say and watch the binding string of burning magic tie me down to possible mortal doom once again.

The light on his face is blinding, the moisture in his eyes shines like diamonds. There is no hatred in them right now. Only gratitude and relief.

I did that. I am the reason for his relief. See.

He does not let go of my wrist for a few second longer just breathing and staring while water shimmers in those eyes, and when he does let go his hands find my frozen one. A warm grip. A caress.

"Thank you…" he whispers. Only meant for my ears. My heart. I am too paralyzed to return the gesture, and it is fleeting, just a moment and he is gone… His hands let go of mine as he rises from his kneeling position. Standing again in front of me like a benevolent god and I, forever his worshipper, kneeling and praying.

In this moment. Twice damned to death or not. I would easily sacrifice myself for my benevolent god.

There is just no surviving after this kind of… Living.


	6. Give me silence, water, hope

_**Author's Note:**_

_With how busy I have been this week, it has only been your lovely comments and reviews that this chapter is even here. I apologize for any mistakes in advance, but I have no time right now to actually go through it right now, but I wanted to put this out as soon as possible because I know a lot of you have been waiting for it._

_I am sending out to all of you a request for a beta. If anyone is interested, please private message me. Bonus points and lots of extra love from me if you are a native speaker and can brit-pick. I won't require too much, just a 6000-10,000 words chapter a week. Please please PM me! I really need the help._

_**Special Thanks to my Lovely reviewers! LastCross, BabyKangaroo, TheShadowsNeverLied, FireAquila, Lindaclere, JoanaSnape, Mistral and Serenaya. *Hugs* for all of you wonderful people.**_

_**Guest reviewer : Thanks to you too, but I am sorry I don't know what you mean by " Love my CN blue by the way." if you could explain it, that would be wonderful, because I have been going round and round in my mind trying to solve the mystery! I am like that.**_

_****Special Special Thanks goes out to my wonderful and awesome Beta "StillWatersAreDeep"! You make the story look so much better! ****_

* * *

_**Chapter 6 : Give me silence, water, hope. Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.**_

I am unable to close my eyes.

Not because it is a new place.

Not because the colour of the bed curtain is green and is reminding me of…

No, none of that.

It is because of the knowledge that he is asleep just a few feet away, in the bedroom two doors down from mine.

It is as if I can feel the rise and fall of his breath move the house.

As if the whole house is breathing with him.

I had not even dared to dream that I will ever get to experience this.

Or just how hard to control it would be.

To stop myself from getting out of the bed and tip-toe to open one door and then go and stand by the door that separates me from him.

Because even in my thoughts, I can't bear or dare to open that last door.

No that door must remain shut. Keeping the occupant of the room safe and sound and sleeping peacefully.

Dreaming, or not dreaming. It doesn't matter.

I know I won't be able to sleep at all.

So one door must open, but only for me to make my way upstairs to where the reason of my being here lies and start working on that stasis that I have been planning to put on her in the morning. It is the best time to do it.

The mantelpiece clock shows midnight hour and so I silently get up and get dressed.

I would like to say that I pass the door that… That I should never open, without pausing.

But I can't. Even with all the Malfoy reserve and poise and control, I do stop.

I stand there frozen for an eternity. Listening to the breathing of its occupant.

But I am proud to say that I do not move any closer and stand right in the middle of the corridor.

Wondering what he looks like asleep, when all the weariness and bone-crushing sadness has melted off his face.

With nothing but his own skin and vulnerability for accompaniment, how does he look with all his defences down?

Just simple pure Harry. No vacancy, to titles, no past, no present, no future, no family, no worries, no weight.

My heart clenches at the thought.

How I would give my life's blood to see him like that.

Neutral and unaware. Without any judgment and calculation in his eyes that is always there in my presence.

His scent is strong here in the cool stationery air of the corridor.

The most unique, beautiful, subtle and inexplicable scent in the whole world. The kind of scent you can never have too much of. The kind of scent that changes constantly yet remains the same, surprising you with the sheer pleasure it brings to your own senses, every single time.

The scent that makes you hungry and ache with longing.

The scent that comforts you when you are troubled, lights the fire of your passion.

The scent that asks you in no foiled words to claim and possess it, to bathe in it, devour it.

As it is, fate has made me an expert in ripping myself apart.

It is one of the many things I am best at.

So I rip myself away from that calling smell.

And silently make my way up to where my patient lies.

In a secondary third floor Ball-room, which has been turned into a healing room for now.

Albus, as I am supposed to call him, is fast asleep on the recliner just a few feet from the bed, the thick alchemy journal open on his lap, a muggle ball-pen still lodged in his fingers and a notebook open on the arm-rest.

He looks obscenely young in his sleep but less like his father than when he is awake. In this position he reminds me of Aali, who happens to be the worst research assistant in the history of the world when it comes to flickering through tomes. He falls asleep every single time, without fail.

I take the woolen shawl that hangs on the edge of the bed and carefully spread it over him so that his sleep is more constant before taking the journal and the notebook, with a gentle flick of the wand I am able to levitate his recliner towards the corner of the room that is out of the way but still in the range of the blessing of the fireplace.

I open the notebook to see that he has been doodling. Lots of genies for some reason. Perhaps he wants a magic wish. He doesn't know yet that the genie is here already.

I knew there was very little that could help us in this particular endeavour in this particular journal.

If it was anything as tangible as alchemical imbalance, the Mungo's Healers themselves would have found it. And might have cured it too.

It is the most common and explored method of healing, is it not? Feeling sick, take a potion. What people generally fail to understand is that most of the time the ailment is more spiritual than physical and that can best be cured by sorcery if anything at all.

I have sent Aali a list of books and extra things that I might need already and I am sure the delivery will come in less than twenty-four hours.

I put the journal and notebook on the desk that stands just by the bed ready to start my work, all I need is my own journal.

The alert to another presence in the room comes a bit slower than it should have, but it does nonetheless.

I turn around calmly, not to give away any kind of surprise at seeing who it is.

Sharp blue eyes are watching me with a ferocious expression.

Ginny Weasley.

She is still pretty but not as fiery a beauty as she used to be when the glow of her youth was all fresh. The dimples on the side of her mouth are a bit more pronounced and her eyes seem… wary and tired. And though she is well put-together for this situation and time of night there is a strange defensive air around her.

I suppose she was brought up-to-date by… her husband earlier in the day.

She would not have let me near her child without the knowledge of the vow and right now and I would be dodging bat-bogey hexes like mad.

Perhaps I let my guard go too slack by the way the other Weasley was handled regarding me being the new Healer of his niece. I should have known better.

So here she stands looking like she is about to explode.

That can't be good.

Her eyes are fixed on me, nostrils flaring with every breath. I meet her eyes easily, and that is a feat in itself because whether it shows or no, a part of me wants to rip her apart for possessing what was supposed to be mine. To have shared the bed and love and life of my mate. How many memories they must have made together. No doubt, hundreds and thousands pleasant days, smiles and laughter, while I trudged and wallowed my way through rejection and abandonment. Countless moments of togetherness and love shared, while I screamed and shouted, isolated and suffering in wordless agony calling for him for twenty long years.

Twenty long years of knowing nursing and feeling the wound of rejection every day. I wonder in those countless painful nights while I screamed in longing that manifested itself in genuine physical pain, how many nights were they making love at the exact same time, while she screamed in ecstasy and I in pain?

I have never known a bigger masochist than myself. I take the medal even from my own Godfather.

Twenty long years of being forgotten by the one who meant the world to me in favour of this person who stands in front of me in this moment, angry and accusing and defensive, as if I would eat her children whole.

She has no idea how possible that is for me.

But that is not who I am anymore.

I am not someone who will let the beast control me.

So I do what I do best. Dismantle the bomb before it explodes. I am only allowed to explode in the twice fortified bedroom of mine in Kyrenia.

I slowly and very deliberately break eye contact with her and look towards her sleeping son, before looking back at her.

The small action works. And now she too is looking at her sleeping son. Defensive anger turning to tenderness for only a moment, but that is all that is needed. Only a moment. A moment makes you and a moment breaks you. Last time she and I were in close proximity, I had been the one to break. This time I am to make sure that everyone gets what they want and nothing breaks down. That everything goes according to plan. My plan. It would take at the least divine intervention to make this not go my way.

No, the likes of Ginny Potter née Weasley won't mess this up.

I move away from facing her and decide to ignore her presence totally. It is after all something that worked perfectly well with Weasley.

"Do you…" her voice when it comes is strangled, low and almost broken down. I turn to look up at her as I pull my personal journal out just as a reference to the special stasis that is needed to be caste on her.

"Do you really think she can be cured?" she finally asks and I am surprised that she is asking for my opinion. Ginny Potter has grown up after all.

"If she is ailing… Then yes,." I answer, flicking through pages and acutely tuned in to her movements where she stands. She is breathing deeply, one hand now clenching the iron-railing of the bed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asks a little sharply.

"It means that if she is sick, then yes she can be cured, as every sickness has a cure."

"And what could it be if not sick?"

"It could be just your bad luck… that is known to happen too."

"Our bad luck? Is this a joke to you? What is that supposed to mean?" her voice grows a little higher as she steps towards me.

"Do you think I make unbreakable vows as jokes on people? Really? How dull can you be?"

She just stares at me, now totally confused.

"There is no diagnosis that tells that she has a sickness, it could be a very smartly inflicted dark curse or it could be a very well place jinx too with Potter being who he is…"

"You think that she was…cursed? Someone did this to her?" for a moment she has forgotten all hatred and anger towards me in favour of horror at the implication of my statement.

That is always good at dismantling explosive situations. Fear and despair easily curtails anger.

And now, to curtail horror and despair…

"No, I am not saying that that is the case, only it is a possibility even though it is somewhat unlikely, is still something that I am not totally discrediting until I have conducted my own tests."

There, that statement is confusing enough. Best way to curtail horror and despair is confusion and irritation, which will never gain the momentum to turn into full out explosive anger again, since the mind is already exhausted.

Now back to ignoring.

"Mum?" I hear Albus' groggy voice say.

Leaving the son to deal with the mother I tune out their conversation flicking through pages of my journal.

I designed a special stasis spell for cases such as Lily Potter's a few years back. Unfortunately it is a little complicated to be performed by any ordinary Healer. The caster has to be an expert with magical energies and able to perform more than rudimentary wandless magic. It has taken me three years to teach Aali to master this particular spell and still his success percentage is 70%. And he is a strong wizard, there is no doubt about it.

"Mr. Potter?" I call for my make-shift assistant.

"Yes?" come two voices at once from behind me.

I turn to look automatically.

How did I miss Potter coming up?

There he stands, next to his son and his wife. Clad in a dark woolen jumper and flannel trousers, her hand on his shoulder.

Her hand on his shoulder…

Her hand on his shoulder…

Stop it!

"Junior…" I utter surprisingly composed.

All of sudden I can feel the weariness.

All of a sudden I can feel the weight of sleep in my head.

Yes, the potion is wearing off. I need to make it back to the safety of my appointed room.

"Yes, Ustad?"

"I think we both should get some rest tonight, and by the by as you are all here, I must mention…"

I pause a moment as I come to a decision in my mind.

"…that I will be removing her stasis tomorrow morning. I would like to observe her for a few hours before I put my personally designed stasis on her which is paramount to her treatment."

"The Gegirgen Stasis?" Asks junior Potter with a light in his eyes that both his parents notice.

"Precisely…"

"So that means that she would be receptive to treatments and nourishments but the seizures will be stalled off…"

"Yes and she would remain unconscious… But it will give us much more flexibility and perhaps we can strengthen her a bit during the process."

"I can't believe this…When I read about its existence I had found myself wishing that someone knew how to cast it! The paper claimed that it was hypothetically possible but next to impossible to execute and the few reported cases were not well catalogued and… now I can see why…"

"It is extremely complicated and impossible to simplify and believe me I have been trying for years since I designed it. It has taken my own prodigy three years to execute it."

"You have a prodigy?" he asks in astonishment. I can see surprise on his parents face too who had been watching the exchange avidly so far.

"Of course I have a prodigy. You spoke with him on the floo, didn't you?"

"That self-important git is your prodigy? But he said assistant and master!"

"Yes, he is that, prodigy, assistant and self-important git. But he is also a brilliant wizard and a capable Healer. And Master is English for Ustad isn't it? He meant master as in his teacher, not as his owner."

"Oh… I see now! I did think that was strange."

"You wouldn't have if you knew who he really was…" mumbles Mrs Potter.

It is a low shot coming at the most inappropriate time… and it stings. It stings badly. But I will not react. I am better than that.

"Who he really is Mum, is someone who came all the way from the edge of the continent to heal your daughter. Unlike us, he knew from the very beginning who we were and yet, despite the history between his family and yours he came here to help us, the least we can do is respect him for who he is now! Please leave the bloody war behind now… It was war! It is over now!"

He is fuming, though he is still somewhat composed while his mother looks at him with narrowed eyes. I dare to look at… him then, as to get a hint regarding what he thinks about the said speech just now.

An expression I least expected is there playing on that face.

Pride and approval.

How is this possible?

"I apologize for this Ustad, I think you are right, we both need the rest and I am sure Mum can keep watch over Lily, not that Lily needs it."

He looks pointedly at his mother.

And there is the Slytherin that I was wondering about.

He is a wonderful snob when he needs to be.

How refreshing.

I spy Potter smiling a little as well.

It is not long before I am making my way downstairs followed by both Potter men. Albus makes his way further down to the ground floor kitchen mumbling about food leaving me and Potter alone in the corridor.

At this point, I feel too exhausted to be alone with Harry Potter and take the pressure that all my senses exert on me in his presence, so I try to make my way quickly to my room.

"Malfoy…Listen!"

I pause at the door of my room. The only door I am supposed to open. He stands by the door I am never supposed to touch. I do not look at him.

"I wanted to say that…"

"I don't require your apologies or gratitude Potter, what I require is a fuss-free environment with as little interference as possible from unrelated people in order to do my work properly. That is something that I require and something you can provide..."

He nods simply as I can see him in my peripheral.

I do not wait anymore and enter the room shutting the door behind me.

Finally able to breathe!

"Sleep well…" I hear his distant voice in the corridor.

And in twenty years, I sleep well for the first time.

* * *

The Christmas decoration is up when I make my way upstairs in the morning after being fussed over for fifteen whole minutes by a house-elf piled with an uncountable number of hand knitted woollen hats.

His name is Wobby and he is a free-elf, honoured to work in the Potter household, is paid generously and has his own vault at Gringotts though he does not like Goblins.

Mind you, that during the whole fifteen minutes I did not say a word and only ate four slices of very sweet and very loaded French toast and 2 cups of sweet-tea.

I need to keep the nutrition level up for the repressing potion to work properly which I have already consumed, without putting any strain on my magic which I need at its best today.

Yes, that is it. I have not eaten so much because the toasts and taste reminds me strongly of Hogwarts and care free days.

Not at all.

I find Albus bent on some kind of manual accompanied by Granger and Weasley's daughter and quite a number of other people conversing quietly enough, strangely.

I see a much more aged Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley seated on one of the couches with their daughter, gathered around the larger fireplace. A child who is somewhat of the same age as Lily sits by her bed reading in a low but audible voice from a magazine.

I stand and stare at the gathered crowd. Family. So many who care. How does that feel? To be cared for? To grow up in such a close knitted and huge family? So warm and open with their affections and hearts.

I remember the quiet and cool Christmases.

I remember the parties full of people who stood like they had a steel rod in place of a backbone, who never smiled, only smirked, who never looked, only calculated. I remember hours and hours of having to stay quiet and sit or stand straight and dream about playing Quidditch in the snow, by myself.

I remember opening the pile of presents.

Latest of everything. Perfect and expensive. Most probably out of a catalogue.

Without any personal touch.

"Mum thought that since we would be waking her up for a few hours, it would be better for more family members to be here, for the few hours of her consciousness."

I see that he feels a little embarrassed by the situation.

"No, no… it is quite alright. The more positive energy the better.. But I will require them all to go when I start casting the stasis." I move towards the bed.

"Oh do not worry about that! I will take care of it. Though… I do have a request to make…" He is now blushing and shifting on his feet, shooting covert glances towards the corner where sits… Granger's daughter.

"Yes… She can stay as long as she is competent."

I say, feeling like grinning all of a sudden.

Children.

"Oh brilliant! Thank you so much, I assure you that she is very competent! So... I will just go and floo dad? Rose and I have already prepared Lily for the removal of the stasis."

I check the patient, gesturing at the reading boy to not get up and keep reading. His devotion creates a kind of delicate protective field around Lily which I find very amenable.

"What is your name young man?" I ask him once I am done with the diagnostics, the state of her muscles and bones being my primary concern. She is well-preserved enough, but the damage already done because of the seizures is something that will not come as easily together.

"Arthur Fredrick Weasley, sir."

"And you are good friends with Lily?"

"The best, sir."

"I see. What house are you in at Hogwarts?"

"Gryffindor, sir."

"Is she going to be fine?" says the little voice as I sort the assortment of potions Albus has laid out for me to examine.

"Yes, she will be fine, I will do my level best." I smile at him reassuringly.

It is not just a statement. It is a mission.

A few minutes pass as I check the quality of all potions necessary, only to find them surprisingly well made.

I recite a few energy balancing incantations under my breath, weaving a solid net around her. Something to make her comfortable and help me focus and all the while I can feel little Arthur watching me with those large tawny eyes. He would look nothing like a Weasley if it was not for his red hair.

"I am just casting some energy centering spells that would make her more comfortable and help her orient to her surroundings better when she wakes up," I say in a loud enough voice that is not addressing him, yet aimed at him at the same time. It is always advantageous to reassure family so that they could provide some positive energy for the patient to feed on. It is a gift that is immensely useful and could be easily given without even knowing it.

His face transforms dramatically in the next second. He shoots a glance at his grandparents and then leans forward and whispers. "Are you a sorcerer?

"I am a Healer first and then a Sorcerer, if at all." I wink at him conspiratorially.

"Wow! Lily would have so many questions when she wakes up. She wants to be a sorceress when she grows up."

"Does she?"

"Yes, and she is really good with the ghosts at Hogwarts, even the Bloody baron comes to say hello when we visit the dungeons."

That is almost impossible. Gryffindors 'visiting' the dungeons. As for the Bloody Baron, he can't be bothered to say hello to the headmistress or master on his best day.

Perhaps I need a different kind of profile to work on here.

"What were her favourite subjects? What was she really good at?"

He furrows a little as if trying to remember.

"Er… She is very good in DADA, but that is because of Uncle Harry and Teddy… I mean Professor Lupin. She does well in Charms but I do better, Professor Flitwick thinks I am gifted… she does very well in Herbology, but Professor Longbottom is the best teacher of them all, so no one actually fails his class and he is also our head of house… Though I think she is the best in Transfiguration. She is the best in the year. She was gifted with a silver pin from Headmistress McGonagall for outstanding performance in the very first monthly test. "

"Professor Lupin isn't the head of your house?"

"No, he manages the Quidditch leagues."

"And Potions?"

He makes a face.

"No… she doesn't like Potions but somehow does alright in them, better than most in our year. Professor Smallridge keeps hinting that if she pays attention she might get a distinction."

Smallridge, a Slytherin three years my senior. I remember her clearly. She was one of the prettiest girls in the school and was marginally polite to juniors. Not that anyone ever dared to be impolite to me in our own house. Junior or senior.

I look at the boy who is now watching me carefully.

I smile at him and am about to ask him about the Quidditch adventures in order to distract him from his keen observation when another group of people enters the place.

The Golden trio alongside a tall and broad man in his late twenties from the look of it, with a mane of jet-black hair and blue-grey eyes that are sharp and slightly feline in shape in a way that is extremely familiar.

He reminds me of my mother and I finally realize who he is.

Teddy Lupin.

My cousin and Potter's godson.

Accompanying him is a petite, heavily pregnant, blonde girl and I can straight away feel her Veela heritage. It is much diluted, but it is right there in her energy and magic. I can tell. Though I am sure that because of the repressing potion she won't be able to detect my Veela.

"Cousin Malfoy…" Teddy Lupin makes his way towards me with a purposeful stride, a strong hand at offer. His expression is neutral and guarded. I take his hand, warm and firm and feel his magic. Ferocious, strong, a little rough around the edges.

His expression changes to a bit of surprise when our hands finally meet and a simple smile comes on his face.

"My grandmother told me all about you… It is nice to finally see you and put a proper face to the name… all she had were baby pictures of you."

"I hope they were flattering ones.." I smile back.

"You were wearing a frock in most of them…"

"Ah yes… those… Parents do sometimes have a cruel sense of humour."

"I wouldn't know…" his cheerful expression dims a little before he presses my hand in his again and leans closer.

"But I'll tell you what, fix our Lily and I will not make them public spectacle."

I nod as positively as I can. Feeling the long suppressed and ages old guilt surface again.

How my parents had given his father such a tough time resulting in his sacking from Hogwarts.

How I had witnessed my aunt killing her own niece and her husband without a second thought.

He finally moves towards the rest of the crowd where his wife is already. I am thankful for it.

"I am sorry for the crowd, but I promise they will leave…. At least this room after saying hello…" I fight my way out of the cobwebs of one of the worst memories I have and look at the source of the reassurance. Potter junior closely accompanied by Rose Weasley. Both of them are vibrating with anticipation.

"It is alright. I am assuming you know how to remove this stasis?"

"I do Ustad."

"That is good, please ask all your relatives to move to the gents salon next door…" Rose quickly moves before something else comes out of my mouth.

"Once she stabilizes we can call them back one or two at a time to meet her. I am assuming again that your sister is closer with your father?"

"She is… much closer than she is with mum."

"Perfect, ask him to stay behind then, but by the east window. I request this because that will centere his positive energy when amalgamated with the natural source of light in the place."

"Really? I would have never thought of that."

I see people moving out of the small door on one side that leads to the said parlor. Rose quickly returns, accompanied with Potter.

"So here is the plan. You will remove the stasis Albus, and Miss Weasley will administer the potions straight away in the exact order as I have arranged them on the side table. I will sit at some distance and observe her Sympathetic energies and note the fluctuation as she regains consciousness properly. Besides, I think it will be good if she sees a familiar face first." The youths nod vigorously in understanding.

"What if she has a seizure straight away?" Asks Potter standing a few feet away from where the three of us are crowding.

"If that occurs, which it might, eventually if not straight away. I think I will be able to relieve her temporarily. As cruel as it may sounds, Mr. Potter, it is necessary for me to witness a seizure. Perhaps I will notice something everyone else failed to notice."

His eyes mist a little with helplessness while the younger one nods but looks away. I clasp Albus' in a lame attempt to comfort and turn around to conjure a stool. While Rose guides the older Potter to go and stand by the eastern window from which the light in filtering in. It is strangely sunny at the moment. I take my perch, just an inch outside the Sympathy Ritual Circle which I had drawn last evening, Lily Luna Potter fully in sight, I need to be stable and alert for this.

I untie my hair, open the collar button of my shirt and roll my cuffs up, trying to center my own energy. Checking and re-checking my own stability. I can feel 'him' where he stands, but it is not sharp. A warm presence if anything. Wand clasped in hand I inhale deeply. Feeling the scent distill through my lungs, I exhale and signal at Albus to start.

A simple two-word incantation.

"_Exsolutio Stasis"_

The bindings of stillness fall from the frail body immediately. Her chest moves and fists clench and she inhales loudly.

Once…

Twice…

Her energy flashes back into being, alongside her magic.

She is startled, confused and in pain.

The kind of pain and irritation a bright light causes to one's eyes when they have remained in the dark too long.

That is how every nerve in her body feels like.. It is clear as day in her magical sympathy.

I have very rarely seen such clear transmission of energies as those that are coming from the girl.

A born sorceress!

And a powerful one.

A sorcerer by birth is as rare as a Male vVeela.

Which is very very rare.

One or two every generation at most.

No, not just in Britain. But around the world!

But… the question is how? And why?

I am sure that her mother, though a powerful witch, carries no talent such as this.

As for the father. Well. He is such an exception to any rule possible that it could be a possibility. Though his sorcery, if he has it, has never stood out to me. Not that I have the strength or will-power to delve into his psyche. It is next to impossible for me to do without losing control even with the potion.

I merge deep into her psyche, using my intrusive but painless method of Legilimency or as Aali calls it "surfing."

The stream of the magic as powerful as she apparently is should come in a straight line and it does. It is a straight, wide, translucent and milky white stream as my mind visualizes it, a sign of purity. It is very rare to witness such a phenomenon as this. I glide into it. It is a beautiful and positive energy, even and cool, and trusting, until there is a bump in the flow and a small piece missing. I glide forward and observe closely, as the stream tries to fill the small hole but is unable to. The flow is even around the hole, but is unable to close it. I move further ahead and notice another hole in the flow, this time bigger, a few moments pass and the holes keep coming and bigger every time, until the once clear ribbon or stream of energy is prone with holes in the likeness of Swiss cheese, and the flow keeps interrupting until the overflow from behind starts over-lapping and starts flowing into the physical part of the psyche. Which is when I start feeling the light shocks. I want to go deeper, reach and observe the magical core, but the frequency of shocks is increasing drastically.

By the time I am out of her Energy and Psyche, she is starting to shake. And I can clearly see the over flow of magic pouring out of her.

I do have the power to temporarily freeze the magical core. Though that will also stop her physical symptoms, but that can be cured individually by normal fever potions and strengthening potions. This way we can give her some more nutrition potions so that she gains more strength before I release her magical core again to have a full seizure which is sure to come as soon as it is released. Obviously freezing her magical core would stretch me out a lot, but it is doable, for a few hours at least. I finally get up and quickly move towards the bed casting an engulfing spell as I signal Albus and Rose both to get out of the way which they both do promptly.

The child has not yet gone into a full on seizure, a steady shaking and body temperature is stable at 101 degrees. I lean down and press my lips to her forehead as I place my wand right on her heart and draw the designated Rune of containment and another just by her navel for transference. My magic flows evenly out of me as her magic takes heed and flows after my guidance and slowly but gradually stops flowing out and becomes stationary as I recite silent incantations against the balmy skin of her forehead. I am almost done still submerged in my work, when something tugging at my hair brings me out finally. I feel small fingers tangling and rubbing my long hair between them. As if inspecting. I notice the calm breaths brushing just under my chin. The shaking has stopped.

I feel the heaviness of a bound core in every muscle of my body as I pull myself together, and straighten legs shaking.

I small wrist comes with me some way before the fingers reluctantly untangle from my hair. And I am captured by a pair of huge Blue – green eyes staring at me in awe.

"Hello…" I smile down at the heart-breaking beauty of her. I can feel my forbearance straining at the seams, because now I know…

"Are you an angel?" her small mouth utters, eyes shining. I can feel all occupants of the room closing around her, but her eyes remain fixed on me, as if looking inside me, cutting deep into me.

"Lily? Sweetie?" Potter leans in crowding my space, and all of a sudden it is too much. I retreat and give him space as quickly as I can, afraid of my legs giving way underneath me as I trudge back towards the recliner by the other window.

"Is he an angel dad? Is he?" I hear the child's voice behind me.

No, I am not an angel dear Lily, I am only a man. Can God please understand this for once that I am only a man? That I can only bear so much? That I can only bear so many tragedies?

"No, sweetie, he is a Healer, here to help you…"

Yes, here to help, to save you. To save and help this little miracle. Little miracle. A beautiful soul. I finally find myself in front of the recliner and sit down on it as my mind and body protest against the strain. I close my eyes without even wanting to and the last thing I hear before I lose track…

"But dad… I saw his wings…"


	7. All our words are but crumbs

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Special Thanks goes out to my awesome Beta "StillWatersAreDeep" I am sure most of you will feel the difference in the chapter now that she is on board.**_

_**Thanks to OshieteOY, RubySilkenSun, Serenaya, RobinBird, qsklue, BabyKangaroo, JoannaSnape, Mistral1968, *guest* and Of course Meliyah.**_

_** Meliyah: You don't know how much the fact that you feel so strongly about my story means to me. We all long to love and be loved, it is the most important thing in life, but as it is, we often mess up our priorities. But let me assure you, this kind of Love does exist, and what we need is to be generous with ourselves and it is my faith that generosity will always be returned two-fold. Thank you for the most wonderful compliment. You have my best wishes.**_

* * *

_**Chapter 7 : All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of mind.**_

I wake up with a woollen sheet thrown over me. In the soft light of the day filtering from the window I recognize that it is a strange brown red and sage in colour, cubes joined with cubes and more cubes with a huge, golden, upside down 'L' in the centre.

"I mean, I have seen a lot of magic, Albus, I mean I see Healer Taransky and Volana on a daily basis and they are called miracle workers for a reason! I have seen them do brilliant magic and magic that was beyond brilliant, but…that was just…"

"I know…"

"I mean, he used runes and Sympathy and Archaic ritual and Touch magic all in one….and…I don't even know where to start to…even….

"I know, Rose. I know!"

"I mean, I am a stickler for rules, you know me, it is in my genes and that magic was just beyond any rules... I have not seen it even written as a reference! And I am an even worst case of a book worm than even mum…and I…

"Merlin, Rose! I know, okay! I know! I know that he did something tailored for this situation and as much as I would love to learn the exact magic, I don't think it is possible. I know it might save countless lives and he probably has saved countless lives… but I don't think…"

"I know, Albus. I know…"

"Did you see how exhausted he was after…the process?"

"I saw…Do you think we should check on him?"

At this point I slowly move my head, as if still asleep just to stop them from checking on me.

I slowly spread my magic inside myself. I won't let them check me, but I can easily check myself.

I don't know how long I have remained asleep, but I do know that it has not been long enough and I am still exhausted.

My contact with her is still intact fortunately, my hold on her magic unforgiving.

That is all that matters at this point.

"What do you think Lily meant about the wings?" I hear Rose Weasley ask and my body freezes for a moment.

Wings?

Did I in some way…?

I check myself internally again.

No itching or aching anywhere.

And they can never come out under the Repressive Potion that I am consuming.

It is impossible.

"It could be the day light playing tricks on her eyes. They have remained closed for a long time, haven't they? Because I don't think she could be dreaming during stasis that is impossible. Or maybe he attempted some form of Legilimency on her during her almost seizure and that is just how her mind perceived him. An angel that had come to rescue her."

"Oh my…Albus! Are we nursing a little crush on someone?"

"Of course, I am, he has already exceeded all my estimates and my estimates were already very exceeded. I have the biggest man crush possible right now! He is the superman of Healers; every kid has a crush on superman. It's a given!"

"Calculated! Always so calculated! At times I wonder how anyone can even imagine that the hat made the wrong decision."

"The hat, Rose, can never, ever, ever be wrong!"

And then they are both sniggering like the teenagers that they are.

I feel as if I have just won a marathon. Exhausted, fatigued but satisfied.

Not for long.

"Is he alright?" I feel the strings pulling again as the deep tenor of his voice breaches my satisfaction. Here comes the bane of my existence.

I hear Albus shuffle from somewhere close.

"Well…More or less, he seems exhausted, but I doubt he is in any real danger."

What are you doing here, Potter? You should be with your wife and child who has just woken up after how many days?

"Rose, Victoire was asking for you and Albus, can you go downstairs and get a nice big warm cuppa from Wobby for Mr Malfoy?"

The children are quick to follow instructions when they come from Harry Potter it seems.

I am hoping against hope that…

"Malfoy?"

The voice is very close. I can smell his cologne in the heat that is radiating from him. But that is not what is most disturbing.

It is the softness in that voice. Oh dear Merlin, please. Don't make him soft now! Don't make him pity me! I want his respect. Only respect. That is all I can take.

And as if I am not drowning in sensation already, I feel sturdy fingers taking hold of my wrist.

Left wrist. And the cuff is being tugged up.

And I don't know why my heart is wrenching the way it is in disappointment.

Did I not just claim that all I want is his respect. Which should not hurt me really if it is not given.

Harry Potter is not checking your wrist for your well-being you stupid fool!

He is checking for your Dark Mark.

It is so strange and impossible that I still have these kind of allusions.

I am disgusted with myself for even hoping. Even thinking in that direction.

"Satisfied, Potter?" I spit before I even want to as I flash my eyes open just in time to see him startled.

"I hope this will help you with your still lingering doubts about me being a Death Eater?"

He wrenches away from me as if I had just burned him.

Nothing close to how much you have burned me.

"What are you talking about?"

The expression on his face is a bit too close to real.

"Are you wondering how I got rid of it? You do realize that I am a Healer, someone who dabbles in healing magic this part of the world has not even dreamed of?"

His brow is now furrowed and he opens his mouth to say something, which I am sure will be pretty much sharper than razorblades but at that moment Albus decides to step in with a huge cup of something steamy hot.

As much as I hurt, I don't want to make things bad between Potter and his children.

"Ustad! I am so glad to see you up. Wobby already had a hot chocolate ready for you, extra large, extra everything really."

Before I know I have a steaming mug of hot chocolate in my hand. Very American.

"Do you want a small dose of Pepper-up in there? You still look a bit tired."

Pepper-up never did anything for me. So I simply shake my head as I place the mug on the window ledge and straighten up. My back protests a little but then all my muscles are protesting with fatigue that comes from stretching one's magic.

"How is Lily?" I ask as I fish out my leather hair tie from my front pocket.

"She is awake, more awake than she has been in months, and Victoire is monitoring her. She has not even shivered or shook for a second since you…Since you did whatever it was that you did, it has been two hours. And Rose is already through quarter of the Potions you had sorted for Lily's consumption."

'It should be possible to hold it back for another six hours without any complications. Beyond that it could be dangerous for me, especially because I need to cast that Gegirgen tonight.'

I look up as I tie my hair and realize that I had been thinking out loud.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly did you see? What is your diagnosis?"

I don't know what to say in answer to that. I can't just blurt out what I found wrong with Lily Potter. I know exactly what is wrong with Lily Potter, as I am sure did most of the Healers. The 'Why' of the situation must have been where they were stumped and that is where all the questions lead, and that is the question that I will have to find the answer to.

"I won't mind telling you at all when I have reached a diagnosis, but I haven't yet."

"What? Then what was all that?" this time the father asks taking a step towards me as I stand up.

"That was me preventing a seizure from happening. That was me confirming what is causing these seizures."

"And what is causing these seizures?"

"An imbalance in her magical core, I am sure many Healers have already told you that, Potter."

A murderous glint crosses that face, the kind I only saw in school when I taunted him on his dead parents.

"And that is your diagnosis? Imbalance in her magical core?" is the gritted out query.

"No, Potter! Pay attention! I have already told you I have not reached a diagnosis yet. The diagnosis would be WHY is there an imbalance in her magical core? The diagnosis would be if the imbalance is natural or inflicted? The diagnosis would be HOW to cure it?"

"But there is no cure for imbalance in the magical core, we already know that." I finally look at the boy, standing a few feet away, white as a sheet with a tinge of green.

"There is a cure for everything, Albus Potter! Even for an imbalance in magical core! And that is why I am the only one that can help her. She does not need just a Healer. Main stream Healers keep chanting this useless moniker because they are too stubborn to go out of their line as a Healer and look for alternative methods. They say the magical core can't be reached or cured because it is the inner sanctum of one's soul and mind. But that is only because of the method they choose. They choose a method that is non-intrusive. You can't heal a wound that is inside your stomach by applying a salve on top of your clothes."

"So what are you saying? You can heal her magical core? What will you do? Stop her magic? Make her a squib? We already asked for that, the Healers said that it is not possible!"

"But they never told you why it is not possible for them, did they? It is because your sister is not an ordinary witch, Albus! She is a bloody Sorceress! A bloody born-sorceress!"

There is pin drop silence in the room for a few seconds as both father and son stare at me as if I have grown a second head.

"A sorceress?"

"Yes, a sorceress. It is an extremely rare phenomenon. Once every generation or so. It is a male-dominated niche, but your Lily is an exception. Which is why it has made it so impossible for any of your normal Healers to even get past her normal defences in order to even try to cure her. She not only needs a Healer but a sorcerer too. Which fortunately, is exactly what I am. So I was able to enter her defences and put her imbalanced magical core in a freeze-hold by connecting my magic to hers. But there is only so long that I can hold on. Her core is already too volatile to take any more risks with it. So I need to put her in the permeable stasis and then I need to find a cure to her problem."

"What do you need?" Ask the boy and father at the same time and I am only too happy for the colour in their skins.

"I need you to look into my eyes and concentrate. You can blink but not too much. Alright?"

"Okay, I'm looking. They are pretty and light-grey…no…silver, with rainbow shades. And really, really pretty."

I hear snickers in the back ground.

"You don't need to speak actually. Only tell me how your eyes feel when you concentrate on mine."

"A little ticklish?"

"Explain ticklish…"

"Umm… like, tickling behind the eyes."

"Hmmm…how does it feel now, still ticklish?"

"Oh! Goodie! It is gone!"

"Good!"

"What is your name?"

"Guess?"

"How can I guess? I have never met you before."

"Tough luck then!"

"I did see your wings you know…"

I pause in my packing of my satchel and look at the girl who has leaned closer and whispered.

"Really?"

"Yes, I saw your wings and I also saw you crying…lots of crying. And I also saw your hair short."

Of course she did. She is a sorceress, I had to let go of my defences to enter through hers, so while I looked into her psyche, she shuffled through the surface of mine, must have only reached memories.

"But I am not going to tell anyone. I promise. It just sort of got out earlier, but that was just one-time. I promise. I just want to know why you are so so sad and hurting?"

I stare at her for a moment contemplating how to answer that question.

"I…lost everything…but I am working to fix it, I won't be sad for much longer."

It is bizarre that I find myself answerable to this child. I often ache for a confidant. Someone I can pour my heart out to. Someone who would understand. But it is a lonely road. I can never stand to be close to people, only Aali and Sarah to some extent.

"Ustad, I found this, do you think this could work?"

I am thankful for the interruption and turn away from the striking blue-green eyes that are dipped in sadness. Of all the people in the world, Lily Potter does not deserve to carry my ache in her heart.

I walk out of the hall leaving her in care of Rose Weasley and little Arthur.

I look at the carved jade candelabra. It is absolutely hideous but somehow clean. Clean of energies and dark magic and very original, ancient and authentic jade stone.

It would sell for a fortune.

"How auspicious…jade…Jade is the best for healing and protection. Also sorcery."

"This is jade?" Albus' eyes goggle as he brings the deep green object closer to his eyes.

"Yes, it is a pure root jade stone and clean too. What did you think it was?"

"Marble, I thought it was simple marble."

"You are standing in the ancestral home of the pure-blooded Blacks, believe me when I say that you would not find anything less than gold-plated, precious materials in this place. In that respect, they were worse than even my father's family. At least we Malfoys had better taste. Blacks were all just…a touch mad."

"Wasn't your mother a Black too?"

"She was the sanest Black I ever came across, that is including the extended family, and I never did get to meet aunt Andromeda, or I am sure she would have been the sanest in my opinion, better than even my mother, who went ahead and actually married my father willingly."

"Dad told us about your mother. How she saved his life and how he could have never defeated Voldemort if it wasn't for her."

How nice of Potter to tell his children the story. How my mother lied in the face of Voldemort and saved his life in exchange for the news of my safety. It is a wonderful story. But I wonder if Potter told his children what happened as a consequence of that action?

"Did he also tell you how my mother died saving my life because the remaining Death Eaters had attacked us in the ministry's custody, in an appointed safe-house, tipped off by someone in the ministry and that the ministry couldn't spare any help in time to save her life because we were not on the priority list, being Death Eaters and everything?"

"What?" the horror in those green eyes makes me realize that I should not have lashed out this way, not at this person.

"Yes, but her death did ensure my safety and that to her was the only thing that mattered. She could never see harm come to me. No matter how much horror came to me in the process of preventing me from harm. That was her madness, I suppose."

He is still staring at me as if I am some strange species.

"It was war, Albus. None of us expected to survive and that includes your father. That is the only thing that can keep you sane through the atrocities of war, the realization that you can die at any time. The realization that you may have to encounter the most extreme hate and most severe love and that they could both lead to the one end; death. This is why I asked you not to judge those who have suffered through war too quickly. It is not something you can just turn off."

There is a pop that startles us both as the be-hatted house-elf appears out of thin air.

"Masters! Wobby has prepared a Christmas feast in honour of Miss Lilu's awakening. Wobby was wondering if he could set it up in the ballroom so that Miss Lilu could enjoy the Christmas feast with her family?"

I glance at a sheepish Albus.

"Mum…" he mumbles.

It is infuriating. But I know that I can't really stop it from happening.

"Very well, Wobby, You have one hour to arrange and then clean up. No more.

"One hour is enough, Master Ustad."

I turn to Albus once the elf is gone.

"I need to work on this, once it is all over, come to my room, I might need some help."

"Err…Wouldn't you like to eat something before…"

"No, I am not hungry and some magic I prefer doing without a full stomach."

He thankfully does not push the question any further.

I slowly make my way down to the second floor feeling as if my head could explode with the influx of memories and sensations and revelations.

I have no idea regarding how I am going to fix Lily. I have no idea why the problem is there in the first place. All I know is that I need to ask some questions. Questions only a few people can answer.

And it is only the second day.

How I am going to survive for so many days? I have no idea.

I lie down on the bed, feeling the exhaustion seep deep into my bones. As if the fatigue would never leave my muscles.

I have been through enough hell in this life, I wonder what awaits me in the next.

Because I do know that there is an afterlife.

I hope there is peace. Peace and numbness.

I close my eyes. I know I need to meditate and reel in all magic properly. That is the only way I can keep the freeze-hold over her magic before I put her under the stasis again and start investigating and treating.

It does make sense that she is a sorceress. Born with the extra bit of magic. Power of mind, magic and persuasion. Ability to bend the rules of natural elements with the power of her mind.

I delve deep into my magic where it connects and surrounds her. Her magic, though steady has a watery feel to it, hence it manifested as a stream. A stream with invisible obstructions making it over flow. This is why her magic easily took to be confined inside my induced freeze-hold. Had it been fire or air, I would not have been able to hold it for as much time as it is possible right now.

It must have shown clearly when her magic first manifested.

I need to ask questions.

Questions about her childhood and the events surrounding the first displays of her magic.

I need to interview and test Potter himself to see what his personal level of sorcery is. Or as they call it here, wandless magic.

It is very impressive as much as I have seen it yet, but I need to know its extent.

And, the most difficult query of them all, but the most logical one. The one which is unavoidable, but might be most painful for me ask. It might just rip me apart.

What were the conditions of Lily Luna's conception? What was the couple's state of mind, state of magic?

Because, if the problem lies with the magical core, then, it has come from the parents. Magical children are somewhat different in conception than Muggle children. More so between a wizard and a witch. I need to know when exactly she was conceived, because magical parents always know when they have made a child, the magic joins and it is an unforgettable experience. In my trek as a Healer around the world, I have even helped birth a few magical babies, especially difficult ones.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley have produced a sorceress, a powerful one, which means the magic of the parents joined, and joined intensely.

'No! Don't visualize the process during which it joined, stay focused. You need to solve this even if it feels like a knife cutting you open.'

But, somewhere in that process and joining, intense joining, something went wrong. And I need to understand what it was.

I can think of a few reasons actually.

Number One: Potter is an Auror, and was most probably on field duty in the days Lily was conceived. He could have been in a duel which drained his magical energy. Or could have been under a spell that interfered or leeched at his magic. It is one of the lesser known and more common after effects of being under a curse.

Number Two: Ginny Weasley was suffering recently from some kind of magic induced hormonal disorder. It is very common, and often main-stream Healers recommend Cherrikona extract as a diet supplement for two weeks, but, all it does is induce a drug-like effect that makes you feel cheery and active. But Cherrikona is a looping agent and in some cases has been known to form an incurring magical energy loop which can then be transferred into the core of the child conceived in that time and in extreme cases, turn a magical child into squib as the magical core disrupts itself by looping and flowing back into itself.

Number Three: Though Potter is a half-blood, and Ginny Weasley is a pure-blood, they do come from very old pure-blood families which might have been linked somewhere in the upper branches of the family-tree and this might be a genetic magical disorder that has by some thousand in one chances manifested in Lily Potter.

Number three might be improbable, but it is not impossible. I am a living example of recessive genes coming to manifest into something strong, pure and rare enough. I am a full-male-Veela, not a hermaphrodite, which all Veela who are not female are. It is probably the reason I am so much more powerful than even ordinary Veela, and also why my own magic is killing me, the way it is. My heat is not so severe just because of the urge to reproduce, but because of the urge to protect and possess.

I take a deep breath. Clearing my mind and lodging the three points in my mind properly in order to retrieve them when I need to ask the question. I run my mind over the facts I have in hand again.

Lily Potter was born on 10th of December 2007.

Conceived somewhere in March…

March…

March is spring…

Spring…spring…

March, I always spend indoors.

Because of the…heat.

I feel as if the world is coming to a stop.

As if my mind is going into a freeze-hold.

No! That is impossible! Every part of me shrieks in horror.

No! it can't be…Potter rejected me. Potter has no connection to me.

Potter is not effected by…

I sit up quickly only for the stilled world to start spinning again with a whoosh.

I grab my head trying to steady myself.

As my mind whirls out of control.

Could this be? Could this be because of some broken, distant connection between me and Potter.

Could Lily be suffering because I was the one effecting Potter's magic in some impossible way while she was conceived?

I would have been in heat, if the maths and calculations are correct. Nine moons. Children are always born with in the ninth moon.

Unless Lily Potter was born premature, which she was not or it would have been mentioned in the report, she was conceived during my heat.

Is it possible that my heat has been having an effect on Potter's magic for all these years?

If it has, then…

No, I should not even allow myself to think it. It is improbable, impossible, inconceivable…

'It might be the only explanation to the other little thing that has been nagging you all this time since you have implemented your magic onto Lily Potter's.'

The little strange fact that the daughter's magic profile is such a perfect mirror of the father's instead of the mother's which is the case one time out of four hundred.

She is a sorceress probably because the father is a sorcerer. An untrained one he may be, but he is a sorcerer nonetheless.

Need to do more genetic profiling. Need to ask questions. Need to ask those kind of questions.

I am startled out of my shuddering thoughts by a knock at my door.

"Yes?"

"I come in peace…and bearing treats…"

The coldness in my core immediately warms up a bit. His voice alone, on the other side of the door can do this to me. With almost silenced thoughts and a worthwhile effort I am finally able to open the door.

He enters with a platter held out with an assortment of baked goods and, without a warning, hands it to me.

And more over shuts me up with a single worded command.

"Eat!"

I feel the weight of that one word and look down at the platter.

Pies, small, miniature pies.

And almost a dozen of them.

"Am I supposed to eat all of these?"

I know it is sneaky of me.

"No, but please have some, they are wonderful, and you need the strength, from the looks of it." he says from the corner of the room where a study desk stands washed in the gloomy day light from the window.

I shoot a look at the full-size dresser mirror to see a ghost of a person staring out of it at me, holding a platter and looking like an idiot.

I watch him from the corner of my eye, as he settles against the edge of the table, so no intention of leaving.

I can't help but feel a twisted pleasure for this sudden care and concern for my health and a bit of fussing. Over me!

He might have an agenda for caring for me, but still.

He is here when his house is full of his family and his beloved daughter sits awake for a few hours.

I can hear the buzz of all the people present in the back ground, but what matters right now is here and now, and him and I.

I sit on the bed facing him and place the platter on the side table. I chose a random miniature pie and take a bite.

It is chocolate custard.

One of my favourites as a child.

And it is glorious. The crust is perfectly salted and flaky and screams with butter and the custard inside is pleasantly warm and smooth and extra sweet mixed with the bitterness of chocolate. And it has been ages since I tasted something so good and felt so fulfilled and just as hungry by a single bite. It is not before I have totally demolished the pie in the next few moments that I notice eyes fixed on me and make the mistake of looking at him.

There is a pin-drop silence for a moment as if the time has slowed down. His eyes are fixed on me, my lips to be exact while his own mouth is clenched closed, his obscenely reddish pink lips pressed into a thin line. I remember how they always have been that reddish pink in colour, so beautiful, and male and asking to be kissed and made even redder. How much time I have spent fantasizing about these lips? I can't start to calculate.

Finally, the silence breaks abruptly as something bumps against the floor in the room above, followed by a strange whine.

He clears his throat unnecessarily and points to the platter, looking as if he is coming out of a daze.

"There might be savoury ones in there too. It is Weasley Christmas tradition. The miniature pies are always surprises. You never know which one you will end up with."

"These are really good." I smile with as much effort as I can conjure.

I can't help the searing pain I feel inside me at the loss of a magical moment. It might have been the only one I would ever have, and now it is gone. This one moment, when I was all that he was thinking about.

I pick up another pie and take a small bite just to do something with myself while he sits there now looking out of the window.

Now, he can't even bear to look at me. Now that the reality has sunk in. I am Draco Malfoy. And my beauty is an illusion.

I can't even recognize the taste of the pie in my hand to recognize its filling. I wait in silence, chewing endlessly and needlessly, before I call the courage forward to end this moment. Here and now.

"What do you want, Potter? You could have sent the house-elf with these…"

It is as if he is pushed out of a day-dream, he turns to look at me again. And I can see him visibly swallow something down. Anger? Frustration? Nervousness? Bitterness? Defiance? Unease? What are you swallowing down, Harry Potter?

"I…I just wanted to say that…I was not looking for your Dark Mark earlier..."

I can't help but stare at him.

"I was checking your pulse, I wanted to make sure you were alright, because you looked…"

He pauses and shifts restlessly and then gets off the table and takes two quick steps towards me.

And I feel frozen on the spot, breathless at the possibilities of what is about to happen.

He stops at the foot-edge of the bed and looks at me pensively.

"I just wanted to…I wanted to say that I don't think you are a Death Eater. If you were a true one, if I thought you were a proper one…I would never have in a million years testified and advocated for you in front of the Wizengamot. You were just a child like the rest of us and you only followed the lead. I just wanted to say that I understand where you stood, now, that I have my own family. I was also just a kid, bitter from the war, and being through the wringer so many times with nothing solid to hold on to…And it was always so easy to yell at you…We have always been pretty nasty to each other, it was the easiest thing to do…but, I guess, that what I want to say is…Thank you…thank you for doing this and also for tolerating Ginny, mostly…And for Albus…I have not seen him like this for a long time."

I have no idea if this is a confession? An apology? A peace-offering? What is this? It is not exactly gratitude? The last part maybe, but what is the rest of it? Understanding?

I am too over-whelmed to actually pin-point how this makes me feel?

At that very moment, that could have not been more blissfully long and painfully short at the same time, the doorway fills with Albus Potter accompanied by a golden…dog. And my thoughts, the crippling pressure of them comes to a full stop and hone in on one thing.

Oh no!

The dog almost scrambles to a halt behind its apparent master and cranes its neck to the side.

Oh please, Merlin, no!

And before I can finish the thought it is leaping inside the room and plunging on his hind-legs and right into my lap.

No one said anything about a stupid dog being in my work place!

"Bilbo! Bilbo! Down!"

But it is too late. I am already being licked ear to ear and smothered in doggy kisses.

Dogs find Veela irresistible, just like small children find Veela irresistible.

As do most animals, especially domestic ones. I can be assured that my face will be covered in dog saliva and I will have feet full of dog constantly if I ever am rescued from this smothering. I don't want to zap it.

In time, the dog is removed from my person and is being chastised.

In time, I turn to look at 'him' to see him smiling widely at me as his eyes sparkle in the suddenly golden day-light filtering from the window.

And I can't help but smile back.

And despite what looms on the horizon for me, it is one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

And I will be damned if I don't cherish it.

This might be the last time I smile like this in this life time.

And if it is shared with him, then it is worthy of its unique position all the more.


	8. Seeing You So Tangible And So Close

_**Author's**_** Note: **_I am so so extremely sorry for the long wait for this chapter. It started with the usual summer-load at work and because I was promoted last winter, I had even more work to do than I could imagine. Then there was Ramadan, which is an extremely busy month for us Muslims, living in a Muslim country, followed by Eid, which is our version of Christmas. During Eid, I was asked by a close friend and colleague for assistance in writing a musical modern-day rendition of a Jane Austen novel for the local summer drama festival. It was loved dearly, so that was great, but I had to totally switch my writing voice for that, and with my limited writing skills, it was hard for me to switch back, hence the further delay. It took me a week to write this chapter. And I am still a bit rusty so I apologize if it is not any good. It will get better from here. _

_To all those who have patiently waited for this update. I apologize and Thank you for the love you have shown "Valebis". It means the world to me. And I am not abandoning this story, especially since I am more than half-way through. For those who are also following "The Principle of Sympathy" the next update will be on that story as I have no plans to abandoning that one either._

**_SPECIAL THANKS TO MY VERY SPECIAL AND WONDERFUL BETA "StillWatersAreDeep". You are wonderful, my friend, for checking my gibberish so patiently and correcting the same mistakes constantly. Loads of respect! _**

* * *

**_Chapter 8 : Seeing You So Tangible And So Close; How Do I Pay, With What Do I Pay?"_**

I watch closely and keenly as slowly but surely her sleep turns into stasis. Shutting down some avenues of constant exchange of energies and keeping open some others. It is a meticulous process which takes patience, time and concentration. It is very similar to picking up a stick from the bottom of a pile without letting the ones above it move. It takes precision and accuracy.

'Gegirgen' means 'permeable' in Turkish and that is exactly what Gegirgen stasis is. It is a permeable stasis spell, which allows the caster to manipulate some aspects of a body under stasis without having to take off the stasis. The body is amenable to external influences but some aspects remain frozen in time.

I look around the room for the first time in more than an hour. My internal clock keeps time like always, accurately, as if it is constantly counting down towards some event.

I have done this so many times that I do not need to refer to my noted plan most of the time. But I still do it. Gegirgen works well only with instinct, that is true, but sometimes in a Healer's universe, instincts lie too. Blood does always have more impact than water, though, gathering in the wrong place they both can cause the same damage.

The apprentices stand just at the edge of the ritual circle, their eager expressions reflecting each other's faces.

I guess this kind of magic does seem quite extraordinary when it is being cast. The ritual circle glowing white, and the visible weaving of spell after spell, graphing the senses and responses of the patient at every moment, shielding, yielding, forming, unravelling, whispering and stationing. Yes, the look on their faces is just right. But what is most impressive…

I slowly lower myself onto the floor feeling acute lethargy in my ankles and back, and stare up at the globe of controlling energies suspended mid-air a few feet above her bed, just to centre my already fatigued senses. I am tiring sooner than usual, but then again, it is not a piece of cake, harnessing an imbalanced core of a sorceress, while half drugged on the Repressing Potion.

The magic Globe (or as Aali refers to as 'blob') looks somewhat like a full moon when it flickers as invisible clouds pass around it. Light Silver gold, an amalgamation of her golden magic wrapped in my silver, translucent and liquid at every alternate second. Yes, this is what would look the most impressive, until it becomes solid, and then it will look extraordinary. It is a reflection of her magic and a synthesizer, cum stabilizer at the same time. Every non-intrusive magic that has to be cast will be cast on this globe, so that everything is balanced when it starts affecting her physically.

And then there is the secret.

In case of my failure. Her magical core will be deteriorated to the level that she would not survive more than seven days out of stasis.

But I won't fail.

Even if for me it is a choice between my swift death and a longer, more painful death.

If all else fails, there is one last option.

I look at my last patient.

And I realize that there is no bitterness in me.

I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to do.

And there could be no better death.

I wonder if this is what the whole lesson has been about.

How often have I prostrated in front of a silent God and asked for salvation?

Countless times.

Is this the answer then?

I think it is. Embracing death. Believing in its finality.

Recognizing the soul, that is the most precious asset of a true Healer.

Choosing the right time and way to die, that is when a warrior is at his most courageous.

It is a moment of enlightenment.

"Ustad?"

I bow my head down feeling the weightlessness of truth in my very bones. Feeling as if I would float away.

"Yes, it is done…" I answer even before he can ask.

It is done, Albus Severus Potter.

It is decided.

Pain it is.

Swift is the way of the coward.

And despite my genetic make-up and being Malfoy, I will not be a coward.

I am Beyazlamak. I will light up and blaze in the likeness of the sun in the end.

For now, I will exhaust all other possibilities. As is the code. I crave for martyrdom, not suicide.

I look up and across the bed at the modernistic marble clock.

Almost midnight.

I have stretched far too much today.

But also accomplished a lot more than I expected.

Diagnosis, decision, solution of a dilemma.

Over-all an extremely productive day.

Full of surprises too, as my mind shamelessly projects the image of a smile shared.

A long, arduous but priceless day.

And it is only the first of the last days of Draco Malfoy.

A warm shawl is placed upon my shoulder, startling me.

"You are shivering," says the deep voice, the heat of it brushing against my ear and I feel the deep ache in my core.

He is so close, and so caring, and not moving away.

The weight of his hand on my shoulder is the only thing I can make any sense of.

I want him to stop. I want him to never stop.

"Draco?"

Why are you calling me that? You never called me that before. I can't even say your name in my imagination for the fear that it will start showing on my skin, in my eyes, stamped black on my white skin, a cruel mosaic of relentless pain. Why are you saying the name I left behind so long ago? Why give me the curtsy of difference now? Malfoy, I was just Malfoy. Spat out of your mouth like a vile potion. Treated like the vile broken distasteful poisonous creature that I was.

_'I will never see your ugly ferret-face again! If you know what is good for you, Malfoy, you will stay out of trouble and die a nameless death in an obscure part of the world, Malfoy! Do you understand?_

Why now? Why here?

"Draco? Are you okay?"

_'I ASKED IF YOU UNDERSTOOD, MALFOY?'_

"Draco? Albus, give me a hand here."

_'Now get lost and remain lost, Malfoy!'_

Why find me now? Why so concerned now?

"I am fine!" It comes out with much more force than I inserted or intended

The hands holding my fore-arms loosen their purposeful grip. I am exhausted, not invalided.

The spell breaks now and I feel my body become alert again, struggling, but alert.

As I slowly gather myself and stand up, bent cautiously with hands on my knees just in case there is residual fatigue ready to trample me over.

"Make sure no spells are cast for the next eight hours, she needs to grow into the permeable structure and her magic as it is will make its own way and we have to wait until the Orb is solid and not translucent. If there is a problem, I will get an indication straight away, and it is free-range so I will get it even across seven oceans. Actually…" I turn around towards my audience.

"Auror Potter… You must know a number of generic containment and boundary wards?"

He nods solemnly looking like the spirit of English Christmas in a Dark Maroon jumper.

"Good! I need you to cast a containment boundary charm, the most generic one you know and I can cast a shielding one. That way there will be no mistakes or interference if someone uses any magic in here."

He traces the containment boundary from a distance as he slowly murmurs the incantation while I cast a simple magic repelling shield at the same time. It takes less than two minutes.

When I turn around again, it seems as if half the Weasley household is standing in the doorway to the hall, in various night dresses.

"Umm…"

"We have got the fort for the night Draco, I think you can rest easily."

Yes, Lily Luna Potter is not alone.

And there is nothing for me to do here now.

It is the night before Christmas… it is Christmas.

Time to be with the family.

And the pit inside me is open again.

I am dismissed.

A knot forms in my throat which will not be swallowed and smoothed down.

As I walk towards my exit, I clench down hard on the desire to look back and see 'him' surrounded by family. I will not look back, or my heart of ash that stands still will shatter with the feather touch of the tenderness and comfort not meant for it.

I wonder why does it still hurt? It should not. I should be desensitized by now, but I can hardly breathe, not until I am out of the glowing hall, the familial paradise, and at the stairs, making my way down, feeling the weight of 40 years of a life wasted in longing bearing down on my shoulders, my chest, where the traitor heart still beats furiously, and crowds my head with its hurt and constant beating.

Which is probably why I do not notice the other pair of steps descending with me in perfect synchrony.

It is on the turn at the first platform that I notice him right behind me.

Why? What now? Go back to the warmth of your family, don't give me the taste of something you can never give me; preference.

You don't owe me anything. Don't consider yourself obligated to me.

I want to say all these things, but I don't, for all I know, he might be going somewhere else. His room? Kitchen?

"Should I also ask the house-elves to stay out of the shield containment?" he asks.

Oh, so this is why he followed.

"Yes, I think that would be wise," I say in answer before resuming descending.

"I was wondering, if I could have a word after?"

There is no way to refuse. So I simply nod.

I find myself in front of the writing desk in my designated room.

Fingers tracing the carved edge.

R.A.B

The lost son.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

I hear the slight knock on the door behind me before it is opened without my prompt or permission. As if he knows his claim upon my space deep in his subconscious. He might as well. I am sure by every passing second that his claim on me has something serious to do with why his daughter suffers.

"Did they ever find what happened to him?"

"What happened to whom?" His voice is closer than I would like it to be.

"R.A.B… Regulus Arcturus Black, the other black son…"

"Oh…" There is a long pause. So long it is that I turn around to make sure I have not been dreaming 'his' presence and that he is really there. It won't be the first time I would be fooled by a mirage.

He is there.

The door closed behind him.

His eyes distant and face blank.

And then he inhales as if coming back from the forlorn suffocating memories.

"His story is even more dramatic than his brother's actually," he says, his green eyes focusing on me finally. And I feel my fingers twitch with the desire to reach out to him.

"He was a Death Eater in the first war, and he was a good one. Very clever, as in he got close enough to Voldemort that he fished out a dangerous secret out of Voldemort. By that time, like any sane and clever person he was having second thoughts about Voldemort and what his teachings meant. He was the one who discovered the secret of Horcruxes first and succeeded in acquiring one of them, though he lost his life in the process, but left the Horcrux he had discovered in Kreacher, the house-elf's care and replaced the real Horcrux with a fake one, complete with a note to the Dark Lord basically saying 'up yours' or something to that effect." The smile on his face is tired. He is troubled. I want to reach out and brush all the tiredness away, consume his worries and pain and comfort him with my whole being.

But he is not mine to comfort. He chose someone else for himself. I wonder how she comforts him? If she comforts him at all? If she values him or worships him the way he deserves to be worshipped and valued?

It does not seem that way. Not if the tense bubble of air between them is anything to go by.

Yet he chose her. Vowed his love to her and remains hers.

Not mine.

"One of the few things I remember my grandmother saying to me before she lost her mind was how much I would look like him if it was not for the… hair..." I remember clearly, her shrewd eyes narrowed at me as if seeing something she disliked, though in words she was always all praises.

"I… No, I don't think you resemble him much."

He looks a little nervous for some reason.

I notice the silence in the room, but it is not a peaceful one. I can feel the tether of the potion loosening further and further on me every passing moment.

"I need you to be honest with me, Draco. What are my daughter's chances of survival? I am not a Healer, but I can feel…I do feel that she is slipping away. I am a parent and I think I have a right to know, to be prepared…"

"One hundred percent…" I interrupt his pain as fast and as confidently as I can. This he asks of me. This I will give.

"What?"

"The chances of her survival are one hundred percent."

He gapes at me for a moment, before his eyes narrow.

There is the Potter I am most familiar with.

"And the consequence?"

"The consequence of your daughter's survival Potter? Well, nothing now, but give her a few years and then she'll add an idiot to your family, who will never be good enough for her in your opinion but you will have to endure nonetheless with a smile on your face. Is that not what daughters do?"

His sombre expression breaks a little, like the sun peeking out of the cracked edges of brooding clouds as a reluctant smile tries to sneak around that strange but luscious mouth which I would give my life's blood to touch. But it seems I would still give all my life's blood anyway without the promise of a touch, still, if divine entity was so straight forward in its working, and asked me to name a recompense for all my strife over the past twenty years, this is what I would ask for. To touch that mouth once with my own, the mouth that has been the deliverer of something worse than a death sentence for me, more than once.

What a strange life I have lived.

He nods slightly and smiles hesitantly, convinced and imagining already.

Now is as good a time as any I figure, to ask the questions I intend to ask regarding Lily's birth.

But before I can hardly utter something to that effect, he is swiftly closing the distance between us.

I don't know if I step back in alarm, all I know is that there is the barrier digging in my back making it impossible for me to make my escape from whatever is coming.

And then he is surrounding me, strong arms surrounding my shoulders, trapping me readily as my soul sings a new song. All I can smell and feel is the perfection of this moment. The scent of him sweet on my tongue and his warmth singing into my existence. The voices are all quiet, nothing to say, just drown. I can hear him say something over my shoulder as his warm, fragrant breath brushes across my ear and neck, but I cannot make sense of it. He smells of honey and toffee and butterbeer and perfection. He smells of everything I have dreamed of him smelling like and more.

I don't know how long we stand there, him embracing me and me falling deeper and deeper into the quicksand of instinct and want.

I only snap out of it when his arms loosen around me for some unfathomable reason.

Why would he want to let go now when this feels the way it does?

Why would he want to step away from me? He is mine.

But he wants to step away and I can't deny him what he wants.

"Merry Christmas, Draco," he says and steps away once, twice, and I want to reach out and grab him, but something stays my hand.

And he is reaching towards the door again, away from me and the sharp pain in my chest brings me to my senses again.

Oh my dear God! What just happened?

He embraced me and I… did I lose control?

He turns towards me once again his expression unreadable.

"The children are keeping watch so everything should hold up nicely until morning. So sleep now. You really need it."

He lingers for a few seconds his face turned towards the door. Before he finally sighs deeply and steps out of the door closing it behind him, his back turned towards me.

The wrenching hurt that washes over me is strong enough to bring me to my knees.

It is strange that there is no bleeding when my whole chest feels like it's filled with shards of broken glass.

I scramble for my wand and find it on the edge of the desk. Hastily casting the best silencing charm I can think of. Before letting the inhuman whine of despair escape my throat. Calling back to him, wailing and mourning the loss. I can feel my Veela breaking binds of my control. I need to take the potion now, but I am too weak. I have expended too much magic today. The only thing I can do at this point is fix myself to the floor I have demolished on, become intimate with every grain on the dark wood ancient and polished to an inch of its density until this bout passes over. Until the Veela folds itself back and shrinks away out of pain. It is a taxing process. So I let go a little, let the tears fall as I feel the pain in my chest like a bruise. Tears turn into sobs and hiccups and hiccups turn into a lament and all I can do in my conscious and detached mind is cling to the floor until the darkness finally and mercifully takes me.

* * *

The first thing I feel as I come back to myself is the ache.

As if there is a hollow gaping hole in the centre of my chest. It is sharper than the aftermath of usual bouts, but milder than how it is after the heat. Second is the stiffness in the rest of my muscles as I try to move them in an attempt to move and detach myself from the floor. Third is the grittiness in my eyes no doubt a result of crying in my sleep. Fourth is the strange lively warmth along my left side and the left side of my back.

I open my eyes with conscious effort into the gloomy twilight filtering in from the window.

I try to get up again but it feels a little too painful so I suffice with turning my neck to look at the strange source of warmth to find two sad and huge eyes staring back at me surrounded by luscious russet coloured fur.

Potter's dog.

But how did it get out of the confinement downstairs and open the door to my room and make it here? And why?

The Veela magic. A part of my slowly starting brain answers.

"Thank you." I whisper to the animal who perks its ears and wags its fluffy tail, looking like the epitome of obedience and innocence.

"And bad dog." I say finally gaining enough momentum in my arms to push myself up from the floor. The mutt hides its face under its paws and looks up at the same time as if to seem guilty and ashamed and hurt at the same time.

I can't help but smile at the mutt. As I make my way to the dresser in search of the potion.

After a warm shower and application of the soothing oil I dress in my warm pyjamas and the woven dressing robe which was a gift from Sarah last Christmas. Still exhausted, but in enough control.

I slowly make my way out of the room followed by the dog.

The situation in the transfigured ballroom reminds me sharply of the night we spent in the Great Hall in Hogwarts in our third year.

The plush portable mattresses are lined up by the far wall. It seems like a strange family tradition of some sort and were I the same wizard I was twenty years ago I would have found the strangeness of the situation distasteful.

I understand much better now.

Understand that despite all the etiquettes, mannerisms and prevention of social faux pas, in the end all you ever need is to be cared for and loved.

I look towards the couches by the fireplace where Mr and Mrs Weasley sit, reading and knitting respectively and across from them Albus and Mini Granger sit nodding off on each other's shoulders, books still opened in their laps. They never noticed my arrival.

There is no sign of Mr and Mrs Potter.

And the imagined reason for their absence feels like a sharp stone in my gut, cutting through my innards, refusing to defy gravity.

I shake myself out of the sludge that my feelings are becoming and move towards the little girl. The Orb suspended upon her is almost solid in its appearance with occasional dips and discolouration in spots, but it is more successful and responsive than I expected it to be at this point. It makes me wonder if I should try the potion I found in Severus' journal which has to do with imbalanced magical cores?

I need to revise the making procedure of course and I am sure that the only ingredient that is a bit obscure to find can be delivered from France via express owl and can be here within twelve hours.

I mean the name of Harry Potter should be able to move some strings along pretty quick.

I am scribbling a list of ingredients for Albus to find when there is some commotion outside the stair hall. It sounds like swift, heavy steps climbing up the stairs followed by some more.

Instincts on high alert, I take a defensive stance just outside the boundary of the containment shield putting myself between the bed of my patient, mattresses containing slumbering Weasleys and the doorway. My position is perfect for keeping an eye on the corridor outside but anyone coming up from the stairs will not be able to see me from their position.

It is hardly seconds later that a youth bolts up the stairs in my periphery and that is exactly where I guide my disarming spell, just three steps into the corridor, the spell hits timed perfectly and with an "oomph!" and a short yelp I can hear the wand clanking its way down the stairs hopefully without its master. In a few swift strides I am out of the hall and into the corridor to find Potter holding the collar of the youth harshly, pressing him into the wall, menace dripping from his face in a way that makes my life force shiver in my veins.

"Harry, let go of him!" comes a sharp rebuke from the first platform where stands Ginny Weasley. Her eyes ablaze, surprisingly at the husband, not the youth.

"Are you so selfish and self-centred that you would risk your sister's life for the sake of your anger and misplaced rage?"

Sister? So this must be the other Potter son. The Quidditch player. He looks like it.

"Are you so stupid and deranged that you would put the life and peace of your only daughter into the hands of Death Eater scum?" the youth spits at his father.

"If it wasn't for a Death Eater scum, you would not even exist, James Sirius Potter! I will not have you in my house bumbling around like a buffoon and endangering the treatment of your sister!"

"Dad? What's the racket? What's wrong?…Oh!.."

I turn around on my feet to see Albus standing behind me, pale but scowling. I turn back towards the stranger situation in front of me again.

The address turns the attention of the other three people towards Albus and essentially me.

There is a plead mixed with apology and anger in Potter's eyes. He should know, words spoken by anyone but him have no power of harming me. They are just words.

The youth, James' eyes flicker and then glow dangerously as he figures out who I actually am. At this point I am sure very few people who actually knew me would recognize me for myself.

For some reason most unimaginative he tries to make towards me in his rage while his father is pressing him against the wall.

In a second Albus jumps in front of me, wand out and in a protective stance to my surprise. Despite his graceful tall stature he hardly seems like the fighting or defending type, but in that moment, I see more of his father in him than at any other time.

This seems to enrage the older sibling still struggling in the clutches of his father even more and before there is any more howling or cursing, I flick my wand and silently "stupefy" him.

It all grows quiet very suddenly after that. As Potter holds his first born son up for a moment and leans his head against the unconscious youth's shoulder, as if in defeat.

Albus quickly steps forward and grabs his slightly bulkier brother around the waist before shooting me an apologetic look and they are descending the stairs.

Leaving me alone with a silently sobbing Mrs Potter who follows her husband with her eyes full of rage.

"Ginny! Ginny, dear? What is the matter?" I am thankful for Mr and Mrs Weasley's prompt arrival The later quickly ushers their desolate daughter and starts to lead her downstairs, as Mr Weasley throws an embarrassed smile my way for some reason.

But said desolate daughter does not fail to shoot a murderous look my way before finally stepping down from my line of sight.

"I am so sorry, Ustad, that you had to see that." I turn around to see mini-Granger standing in the doorway. Eyes looking tired and sad.

I shrug it off as carelessly as I can. Feeling somewhat numb. "Fathers and sons will always have issues."

"But I personally feel that issues between James and uncle Harry are usually tailored by aunt Ginny most of the time!"

The expression on her lost in thought, scowling face suddenly goes slack as she realizes her declaration.

"I am sorry, that was out of line."

"Do not worry, your opinions are safe with me… in fact they might help me in the next step of my treatment, these opinions and observations regarding Mr Potter's family dynamic."

"Oh? How so?"

"I think it would be better if I explained a theory that I have formed, with Albus present."

Curiosity shines in her eyes.

"I can always fill Albus in later…"

I give her my best winning smile before I lead her back into the room where my patient lies, and make way to the abandoned notebook where I have made a list of ingredients I would need for brewing Severus' potion. It seems that most Weasleys have slumbered right through the commotion.

She goes through the list and details twice before she asks me the obvious question.

"I do not know if Herlinatilly Extract will be available anywhere here."

"I know of an apothecary in Rouéville, Étienne, he sells it under the desk and to very selected clients for an exorbitant fee, if Potter sends a letter to this apothecary, I am sure he will make a special exception, even during Christmas Holidays."

"But…"

"I know what you are thinking, though it is allegedly used for…recreational purposes, it is so rare that it is not really illegal. Not here in Britain at least."

"And you think this potion could help? It does not look very complicated in its procedure, but I have never seen such ingredients in one potion!"

"I trust it, I have tried it before and it did work, even though the case was much milder. But the fact that Severus Snape invented this potion was enough for me to believe in its effectiveness before I even proved that it works."

She nods solemnly, suddenly looking much more respectfully at the list in her hand. Her blue eyes running through it again as if trying to memorize it.

"I keep forgetting that you are Professor Snape's god-son and one of his most impressive apprentices according to his own teaching journals."

I snort at the statement.

"And yet I know it was a common opinion that it was only favouritism because I was his god-son and a Slytherin and had nothing to do with my talent."

She snorts at the statement in a most uncharacteristic way, resembling her father for the first time.

"I don't think anyone who has ever been in the Potion's classrooms at Hogwarts will agree with the opinion that Severus Snape would never be kind in words or have favourites in any case other than exceptional talent, which we all think is impossible and in case we didn't, he hangs on the wall to tell us so at every available opportunity. Be it Slytherins, 'who are a disgrace to the name of Salazar and Hogwarts' and should replace the cleaning house-elfs. Ravenclaws ' who should have their brains clawed out and filled with Hippogriff dung for all they are worth'.Hufflepuffs 'who should have their hands transfigured into towel papers rolls for how much they cry and spill precious potion ingredients. Gyffindors? I can't even start to tell all the things that should be done to Gryffindors…"

I realize that I am staring at her while I imagine the insults pouring down in his deep baritone that was able to do more damage on one's nerves than a banshee's screams.

"And we thought that it was finally over when we graduated from Hogwarts, only to find him situated menacingly in the Potions lab at St Mungo's and we finally found out that there are actually seven portraits of Professor Snape, including the one in the Headmaster's office and one in uncle Harry's office. But that is not as bad as you would think because there is also a portrait of Professor Dumbledore in uncle Harry's office so that kind of keeps them busy. Then there is the one in the Order's headquarters and one in the Dumbledore Memorial hall at the ministry, which of course is used without fail for holding the Auror trainee's final exams. There is also one in uncle Harry's study at Godric's Hollow, but I think he intends to bring it here now that he lives here, but there is one more…"

It was at the Spinner's end and now hangs in the sitting room of my living quarters at the manor.

I had to leave it behind because I was supposed to be lost, impossible to be found and though I always knew that Severus would keep my secret as he had all these long years, I did not want him or even his memory to witness my excruciating pain.

"You should ask Albus to tell his father to send a prepaid express owl to Rouéville as soon as he can and we can start making this potion in no more than fifteen hours, because the potion itself takes twelve hours to make in fairly equipped, deep-seated laboratory."

"Albus is in the basement, and it is decently equipped since he has always been interested in diagnostics."

"I shall have a look as soon as…" I remember the commotion going downstairs.

"As soon as? " says Albus somewhere behind me.

"Ah! Has it been brushed under the rug yet?" Asks Mini-Granger her eyes fixed in a warning mixed with resignation on her best-friend and cousin.

"Grandma is talking to him now as you know mum is going to be…" he stops mid-sentence, not wanting to complete it in my presence I figure.

I know it will be awkward and embarrassing but I think it is time to ask the assistance of these two in the questioning I need to do regarding conception and birth of Lily Luna.

"This might seem a little intrusive of me on a personal level but it is a professional requirement. I need to ask your parents some really detailed questions regarding the circumstances of Lily's… birth and… more importantly her conception."

My audience flushes all at once as both of them understand exactly what I am talking about. But then Mini-Granger straightens herself through her still prominent flush.

"Of course, Ustad, I mean it would only be logical if you do so, seeing as this is the problem with her core so it might have been there since birth… I think I will ask uncle Harry and aunt Ginny to sit down with you as soon as possible to get it over with…"

She hands over the list still in her hand to Junior-Potter, conveniently bringing an end to their embarrassment.

"I would like to inspect your Potion's lab after breakfast today, so that if any equipment that I might need in brewing this potion is missing, we could get it by the time all the ingredients are gathered."

"I see, but… I am… Herlinatilly Extract?"

"Granger here will explain to you. The owling address is written right under the list…"

As I decide to retire for a few more hours feeling the aftermath still grating on my nerves, I see a small amused smile playing on both their lips.

I simply raise an eyebrow in query as it clearly looks like I am the source of their amusement.

"You called me Granger… I am actually Weasley."

Her face is rather beautiful when she smiles like that. Softer, easier and much more natural than amusement ever was on her mother's face in that age. No, Granger had just fought a battle against the darkest wizard known to mankind on the frontlines. Granger's smile was never that easy and natural the very few times I had been able to witness it.

"You are Granger to me as long as I am here, easier for me if I don't have to cringe every time I have to compliment you on your brilliance, which I will never be easy or generous with if I had to call you Weasley."

She flushes even more, trying to look offended though she is extremely flattered. I simply smile at her.

"I must retire and catch a few hours of shut-eye…"

I wonder for a second if I should ask junior Potter about the mutt who is now languishing in front of the fire place.

"Make sure your family issues remain on the ground floor for the duration of the morning. He won't be able to do much, but I do not take kindly to people who are stupid enough to try to interrupt my work."

Albus agrees stiffly. I am glad that he does not take offence and understands the importance of the situation.

"That will be no problem, Ustad. You can count on me."

No, Albus Potter, I can only count on me.

And perhaps the dog.

If the dog follows me, then I will not deny myself the comfort of its unconditional warmth and undemanding praise.

If I don't deserve that after the brutal embrace, I don't what I will do.

The dog does not follow.

In the end, it is only the cold bed and me.

Stupid dog.

Stupid Draco.

* * *

_**Gegirgen Spell: **As described in the chapter is a permeable Stasis spell. Allowing modifications to be made to the patient while remaining under stasis._

_**Herlinatilly Extract: **An absolutely fabricated Potion ingredient I invented. It is extremely rare and has Magic enhancing effects but is also unpredictable and hallucinogenic._

_**Rouéville: **Translates to "Tricky Town" and is also absolutely fabricated by me. Has no relations to canon. I only needed a French Magical Town and had some help from Google Translate._

_**Reviews as always are extremely welcome and cherished! **_


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